PS 

3535 1 




American Dramatists Series 



Gftje Kittle ing ffiaugtjefc 



3fergua Sei&ie 






^B 





Class 



^qu- 



Book_~ 



GcpigMU?. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



American Dramatists Series 

THE LITTLE DOG 
LAUGHED 

A FANTASY IN FOUR PARTS AND 
AN INTERLUDE 

BY 

FERGUS REDDIE 




BOSTON 
RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 



Copyright, 1919, by Archibald F. Reddie 



All Rights Reserved 



l*. 



•^ 



Acting and motion picture rights are 
reserved by the author, u-hose permis- 
sion must be obtained for production 
by either amateurs or professionals. 



Made in the United States of America 



The Gorham Press, BostoN, U. S. A. 



>u'.Q 52; 



. 



■ 



TO 

MAC IVOR REDDIE, 

WHOSE SENSE OF THE HUMOR IN THE NATURE 
OF LITTLE DOGS HAS BEEN THE SOURCE OF 
THE AUTHOR'S INSPIRATION, THIS FANTASY 
IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED. 



THE LITTLE DOG LAUGHED 



CHARACTERS IN ORDER OF ENTRANCE 



~ Mother Goose's orchestra. 



A Cat with a fiddle 

A Cow with a moon 

A Dish with a spoon 

A Little Dog 

Mother Goose {Mrs. Ann Goose), aged forty. 

Abagail, her youngest, aged six months. 

Captain Eleazer Goose , Anns husband. A 
smuggler, aged fifty. 

Bobby Shafto, his cabin boy, aged seventeen. In 
love with Mary Goose. 

Mary (called Mary, quite contrary), Anns oldest, 
aged fifteen. 

Silence 

Marjory (called Marjory Daw) 

Prudence 

Faith 

Hepsibah (called Bo-peep) 

Benjamin (called Boy-blue) 

Old Mother Hubbard, one of Anns neighbors. 

Peter Piper, a bachelor — very fond of pumpkins. 

Thomas Tucker, constable and collector of cus- 
toms of Salem Port. 

Jacky Horner, son of Goody Horner. 

Miss Muffet, an old maid. 

Goody Horner, a widow living near Salem. 

Jack Spratt, son to Ann Goose by a former hus- 
band. 



the rest of 
Anns brood. 



S The Little Dog Laughed 

Jean, his wife. 

i \ their twin children. 

George, their second (or third?) child. 
Their infant twins. 
A little girl in the audience. 
An old lady in the audience. 
Several little boys and girls in the audience. 
The man who works the lights (he should be Un- 
seen ) . 

A maidservant at the home of the Bradburys. 

Harold Kennerly, an architect. 

Vivian, his wife, an actress. 

Miram Judson, her friend and the friend of the 

Bradburys. An artist. 
Jim Bradbury — "Bumps" — an artist. 
Betsy, his wife, a writer of verses for children. 
Dinah, their daughter, aged seven. 
Little Jim, their son, aged five. 
Jean, aged seven, daughter of the Kennerlys. 

The Property Man. 



ARRANGEMENT OF SCENES 

The action throughout takes place in the kitchen of 
an old house in Salem, Massachusetts. Until 
the last part the time is the early eighteenth 
century. In the last part — for the most part 
— it is supposed to be up-to-date. But in one 
place in the last part it may be what the 
audience likes. 

Part One. One A.M. of a day in Spring, chang- 
ing to six A.M. of the same day. 

Part Two. The day following. Mid-morning. 

Part Three. Early evening of the same day. 

Interlude played by Mother Goose's orchestra in 
front of the curtain and by the actors on the 
stage as well. The morning following. 

Part Four. All Hallows' E'en. The present time. 



THE LITTLE DOG 
LAUGHED 



PART ONE 

The scene represents the kitchen of Ann Goose, a 
thrifty New England housewife. 

The floor is white as though sand-scrubbed. In 
the floor space at left in front of the huge fire- 
place which occupies almost all that side of 
the room, is a round rag-rug, hand made. 
The rest of the floor is bare except for a 
sheepskin in front of the door leading to the 
shed, up right. 

At the left, above the fireplace — that is, away from 
the audience, is a door leading to the other 
downstairs rooms. At right angles with this, 
against the back wall (flat) is a secret panel 
door, rather narrow. Next this, to its right, 
a stairway leading to an attic above stairs. 
This doorway is closed with a door opening 
toward the audience, and several steps above 
the floor of the stage. In the recessed center 
part of this back of the room are a grand- 
father s clock (next to the stairway), a long 
table, and a cupboard. Back of the table a 
ii 



12 The Little Dog Laughed 

long, low window opening on to a garden full 
of old-fashioned flowers. Right of the cup- 
board is the door leading to the shed, and in 
the angle between this door and the right wall 
is a woodbox. 

The right wall has a long window similar to 
the one at the back, and below this are shelves 
with utensils, etc. 

In front of the table is a long bench or "form** 

Before the fireplace are a hooded cradle and a 
straight chair. Chairs R and L of the table 
and one down right. In front of R window 
a spinning wheel and stool. 

Candles on the mantel shelf. 

A low stool by the fireplace. It is tufted. 

A pot on crane in the fireplace. 

Nine porringers on shelf at right. Some few 
dishes. Spoons in cupboard. 

(Directions are from the stage viewpoint) 

When it is time to begin the performance the Cat 
comes in front of the curtain. He is black, 
and wears a dress coat and vest, with white 
stock, of very early colonial cut. Black 
trousers and white stockings, and buckles on 
his pumps. He carries a fiddle and bow. He 
is followed by a Cow with a drum thai looks 
like a Moon, and a person dressed like a Dish 
with legs, carrying in his hand a spoon and a 
bass-viol. The spoon is the bow. 

These three proceed to the left side of the stage 
apron, which is extended for that purpose. 
They sit on stools there. Cow lights her moon. 
Following these three is a Little Dog, white 
faced, black nosed, brown eared and with the 



The Little Dog Laughed 13 

brown extending over his eyes. He wears a 
blue skirt-coat with brass buttons, yellow 
waistcoat. His lower parts are au naturel. 
He has a little red chair on the right side of 
the apron, on which he sits. He holds his 
hands (f) as a dog does when begging. 

The orchestra plays a short medley of Mother 
Goose airs. When they reach "Hey-diddle- 
diddle" the Cow leaps over the Moon (which 
has a light inside it, of course), and the Dish, 
frightened at this, deserts and starts to climb 
down with the Spoon into the audience. At 
this the Little Dog laughs aloud. 

The curtain rises upon a stage dark save for the 
light from the fireplace and such light as may 
steal in from the moonlight without. Mother 
Goose is seen sitting on the chair in front of 
the fire, rocking the cradle. She sings: 
Mother G. 

Rock-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top! 

When the wind blows the cradle doth rock; (Sleep- 

ily) 

When the bough bends the cradle doth fall, 
And down doth come baby — and cradle — and all! 
She has been singing without accompaniment. As 
she concludes the strain the orchestra repeats 
the last line. The Little Dog chimes in 
vocally from the part beginning "and cradle 
and all" But he sings it his own way. 
Little D. And cradle — ha, ha! 
Mother G. (Accompanied by orchestra) 
Hey, diddle-diddle, the Cat and the fiddle; 
The Cow jumped over the moon! (The Cow does 
so) 



14 The Little Dog Laughed 

Little D. Ha, ha! 
Mother G. 
The Little Dog laughed to see such sport (Disk 

business) 
That the Dish ran away with the spoon! 
On the last line Mother Goose rises and exits, left, 
taking Baby. 
Little D. {Looking after her) Ha, ha! 
Chorus of unseen children, without, with orchestra. 

pp. 

The Little Dog laughed to see such sport (Dish 

business) 
That the Dish ran away with the spoon. 
For a moment there is silence. The fire flickers, 
and a mouse runs out, squeaking, from the 
middle of the room somewhere, and runs up 
the clock. 
Chorus of unseen children. 
Dickery-dickery-dock ! The mouse ran up the 

clock! (Clock strikes one) 
The clock struck one! (Mouse runs down) 
Down the mouse run ! 
Dickery-dickery-dock ! 

The orchestra takes up the strain of the last line, 
the Little Dog chiming in as usual. 

Little D. Dickery, dicker ha, ha! 

The Cat. Little Dog! 
Little D. What is it? 

The Cat. It is cold out here. Wilt thou go 
in there by the fire with me? Mother Goose has 
gone off to her bed. 

Little D. Good. I'm with thee. 
The Cat. Shall the Cow come also? And 
the Dish? (Rise and come to C) 



The Little Dog Laughed 15 

Little D. (C) No. The Cow taketh up 
too much stage-room, and the Dish hath nothing 
on it. Better leave them where they be. ( They 
go on the stage. The Cat sits on the chair vacated 
by Mother Goose and the Little Dog sits cross- 
wise on the cradle) Cat, I have been intending 
to ask you for a long while why you do not chase 
the mouse when it runs up the clock? 

The Cat. Because, it is not in the rhyme. The 
rhyme saith that the mouse runs up the clock and 
down again. That is all. So you see I cannot 
chase the mouse unless it is so rhymed. 

Little D. How wise thou art. Cat! 

The Cat. Yes. I know a many things. 

Little D. Tell some of them to me. 

The Cat. Not so, Little Dog. If I told some 
of them to thee I would seem just so much less 
wise to thee. And I like folk to think me wise. 
( The wind is heard howling without) 

Little D. In spite of the moon shining there 
is a heavy wind out at sea to-night. 

The Cat. Yes. 

Little D. How dost thou know, Cat? 

The Cat. How dost thou know? (Twisting 
his tail and looking at the fire) 

Little D. I smell it. I have an excited feel- 
ing down mv hack. And my nose itcheth. I 
think old Eleazer Goose will come home to-night. 

The Cat. What maketh thy nose to itch, Lit- 
tle Dog. when thou speaketh of old Eleazer Goose, 
the smuggler? 

Little D. He traveleth from afar, and when 
he cometh home he bringeth with him many strange 
and wonderful smells. 



1 6 The Little Dog Laughed 

The Cat. (Pensively) The last time he came 
home he brought with him two white rats. I ate 
one of them the following Sabbath, and the other 
one the next Sabbath. The meat of the white rat 
is very delicate to the taste. 

Little D. I remember; I played with their 
tails afterward. You did not eat their tails. 

The Cat. Tell me some of these smells that 
old Goose bringeth. 

Little D. Well, first of all — and best — is the 
wonderful travel smell. 

The Cat. What like is it, Little Dog? 

Little D. Well, there's a salty smell to it, and 
a bit of onion and tobacco, and a lot of old-clothes- 
smell and wet leather. And hot pudding and ale — 
and tar — and cocoanuts — and 

The Cat. And warm blood? 

Little D. Nay, I cannot say that travel smell 
hath warm blood in 't, though of blood it often 
smelleth — cold-blood ! 

The Cat. Rats' blood? (Leaning forward, 
red-eyed) 

Little D. Nay. Man's blood. The blood of 
white men — and black men — and yellow men, and 
red men, and — and — and blue men. 

The Cat. I have never heard of blue men. 
(Looks at fire again) 

Little D. Faith! I've never seen a blue man 
myself, but I have oft smelled blue smells when 
Eleazer Goose hath returned from a voyage. 

The Cat. Why is it that he doth alway return 
in the night, and almost alway on a dark night, 
and a stormy? 

Little D. Dost thou not know? 



The Little Dog Laughed 17 

The Cat. (Sweetly smiling) Aye, I know; 
but I like to hear thee tell of it. 

Little D. Thou knowest Eleazer Goose is a 
smuggler of the contraband. 

The Cat. Why is he clept a smuggler? 

Little D. Because he is so smug — so smug 
that he hath never yet been caught. Why, his own 
wife, Mother Goose, doth not know that he is a 
smuggler. 

The Cat. What doth he smuggle? 

Little D. All those things that make the 
smells — and some others. There is a shining thing 
he doth bring to his wife — all in little pieces like 
small pancakes. And yet it hath no smell, and 
yet it he most coveteth. He calls it gold. It is 
the color of Bobby Shafto's hair. 

The Cat. It was Bobby Shafto who brought 
the white rats. How I should love a white rat 
to-night ! 

Little D. By the way my nose itcheth, 
and by the manner in which the root of my tail 
burns, thou mayst expect something bigger than 
a white rat to-night. For I tell thee, Cat, old 
Goose will surely come this night. I seem to 
smell 

The Cat. Old Goose? 

Little D. No, not Goose himself; but his ap- 
proach. I smell his approach. 

The Cat. WTiat is his approach? 

Little D. Why, knowest thou not, sooty one, 
that every person and every living thing — and all 
dead things too — have something that goes out 
ahead of them and warns us they are coming? We 
call this their approach. 



1 8 ' The Little Dog Laughed 

The Cat. Like my whiskers? — they are my 
approach ? 

Little D. No; thy approach extendeth farther 
than thy whiskers. Well, I can surely smell the 
approach of old Eleazer Goose. 

The Cat. I hope he hath a white rat with 
him. Or a bird! I'd like a fine bird this night. 
A bird for week-days, and a rat for the Sabbath. 

Little D. Where do mice come in? 

The Cat. Oh, mice are but as sweetmeats 
to a cat. 

Little D. {Suddenly growls, rises and runs to 
door. U.R. He stoops and smells at threshold. 
The wind howls) He cometh, Cat! 

The Cat. Can you smell Bobby Shafto too? 

Little D. You do not seem to understand, 
Cat; I do not smell either Bobby or the Captain 
yet — only their approach. 

The Cat {Settling himself). Well, when 
you smell them, wake me up. 

Little D. Cat! 

The Cat. Well, what is the matter now, 
rattlepate ? 

Little D. Is it really true, Cat, that we are 
fairies — thou and I? And that this is fairyland? 
{Leaning over hood of cradle.) 

The Cat. Of course it is true. Dost thou 
doubt it? 

Little D. Then we are not real, are we? 

The Cat. Not real! My dear Little Dog, 
fairyland is the only real place on earth, and fairy- 
folk the only real folk. 

Little D. Is — is — Mother Goose a fairy? 

The Cat. Truly she is, for she will always 



The Little Dog Laughed 19 

live and never die. Listen, thou stupid, senti- 
mental little dog, to the wisdom of a fairy CAT! 
I will prove to thee that Mother Goose is a fairy. 
Ahem! Ahem!!! Once upon a time 

Little D. Oh, it's a story! 

The Cat. Be quiet. Once upon a time there 
were no nursery rhymes except the songs the 
mothers made up for themselves — songs without 
words — just little odds and ends of sound — little 
bunches of kisses set to music — 

Deedle-de-um-ums, baby ! 
Baby — baby — deedle-de-doo ! 
You know. Well, that was all. And there was 
an old goose lived then, and she had so many gos- 
lings that she was almost crazy for something to 
sing to them to make them go to sleep, and so at 
nightfall she went around and listened at the win- 
dows to see what the mothers were singing to their 
babies, hoping she could learn something to sing 
to her goslings in this way. But she only heard 
these silly songs without words. And you know 
babies like words — it's astonishing how much a 
baby understands, my wife says. Why, in her last 
batch of kittens 

Little D. Go on about the old goose, please. 

The Cat. Well, she was so disgusted that she 
hissed out, "Why, any goose could make up songs 
better than that!" And, whiz! before she knew 
what she was about she was turned into a real 
woman named Ann Goose, and she had a husband 
— a gander named Eleazer Goose 

Little D. I know! I know! I can smell his 
approach! What then? 

The Cat. What then? If that doesn't prove 



20 The hittte Dog Laughed 

her to be a fairy, I do not know what will. And 
so she has found words for all the nursery music. 
And I am her chief musician, and the leader of her 
orchestra ! 

Little D. {Excited) And I'm the chorus! 

The Cat. And another thing; Mother Goose 
has all her rhymes for neighbors. 

Little D. Dost thou not mean that she hath 
all her neighbors in her rhymes? 

The Cat. No, I do not. For she made up 
her rhymes and they turned into people. And all 
of them are alive, and you can see them and hear 
them, and 

Little D. Smell them! And Captain Goose 
is coming home. I can smell 

The Cat. What? 

Little D. His boots! 

The Cat. Is he so near? (Rises) 

Little D. Nay, he is not so near. But his 
boots have a very great approach! 

The Cat. Come, let us get back in front of 
the curtain. (Walk down) 

Little D. And so we are fairies too? (Rising 
and following thoughtfully) 

The Cat. Yes; we are a rhyme, and we help 
to make the music for the other rhymes. Mother 
Goose and I put all the babies in the world to 
sleep these days. 

Little D. And I? What do I? 

The Cat. Thou? Thou art like to wake 
them up when thou bayest the moon. 

Little D. Well, now that I understand it all 
I'll never do that again. I'll laugh a very little 



The Little Dog Laughed 21 

laugh — with my tongue hanging out. See! Ha, 
ha! 

The Cat. That is good. There, take your 
place. 

The Cat goes to his place and TAKES UP His FID- 
DLE. The Little Dog cannot resist the temp- 
tation of a last sniff, and so he scampers over 
to the door and sniffs at the threshold) 
Little D. He's here! He's here! And Bobby 
Shafto too! (He appears puzzled) Why — they 
are not coming in! (Pause. Then he runs to the 
secret door, up left) Oh, he is coming in the 
secret door! (He scuttles back to his place in front 
of the curtain just in time to save the situation) 
Chorus of children off stage singing — without or- 
chestra 
Bobby Shafto's gone to sea — 
Silver buckles on his knee — 
When he comes back he'll marry me! 
Pretty Bobby Shafto! 
Bobby Shafto's fat and fair, combing down his 

yellow hair — 
He's my love for evermore — 
Pretty Bobby Shafto! 
The orchestra repeats last line, the Little Dog as 
usual coming in at the end. 
Little D. Bobby — (softly) ha, ha! 
The wind howls again. Then a voice is heard, 
that of Captain Goose. 
Cap. G. Beelzebub take the blast! Here — 
hold thou this bag, Bob, and see thou drop it not, 
or I'll make shark's meat of thee. (The sharp 
click of a spring lock is heard and the panel slides 



22 The Little Dog Laughed 

back. Eleazer Goose, bearded, normal and gruff, 
but kindly, aged fifty, peers in. At sight of him 
the Little Dog cannot contain himself and leans 
toward the audience, speaking in an excited whis- 
per:) 

Little D. That is him ! That is him ! ( The 
Dish draws his bow disapprovingly across his viol 
strings — it sounds like wind in the passage — and 
the Little Dog is silenced) 

Cap. G. All's quiet. {He enters, followed 
by Bobby Shafto, a quiet, blond and good looking 
youth of seventeen. Captain Goose takes a bag of 
money which Bobby is holding) Gie me the gold, 
lad. So! {He closes the panel after they are in 
and comes to the fire, taking the chair Ann vacated. 
Bobby sits on floor facing the audience, between 
fire and the Captain, but farther up) 

Bobby. I never knew there was a door there, 
Captain. 

Cap. G. See that thee never lets another know 
there's a door there! — if thou dost — hm! Dost 
understand? {Bobby nods) 'Tis well. Thou'rt 
a promising lad, Bob, and may'st learn my trade if 
thou'rt sharp. But remember to use thy tongue to 
taste victual rather than to give news if thou 
would'st be a good trader in the contraband. 
{Suddenly the cradle begins to rock. The Captain 
springs to his feet) What in the name of the Evil 
One is that thing? {The cradle has stopped rock- 
ing) I swear I saw it move! 

Bobby. It looketh to me much like a cradle, 
sir. 

Cap. G. A cradle, egad! Dost mean to tell 



The Little Dog Laughed 23 

me that I am father to another brat since I left 
home? 

Bobby. It looks much like it, sir. 

Little D. (Softly) Ha, ha! (Bobby starts 
up listening) 

Cap. G. What ails thee, lad? 

Bobby. I thought I heard a noise — a voice 

Cap. G. Sit 'e down, Bob; you give me the 
fidgets. 'Twas nothing but the wind, or maybe 
some phantom in thy own head. Folk following 
the sea get lots of queer ideas. (Pause) And so 
thou thinkest there's another youngling born to my 
wife in my absence, eh? 

Bobby. What else would the cradle be here for, 
sir? (Sitting) 

Cap. G. A cradle might be used for a many 
things. I've seen bread made in a disused cradle. 
Ha ! I remember this one was made out of a locker 
was washed ashore from a wreck that smashed her 
ribs here hardby on our New England reefs. And 
it hath cradled all my bairns — seven on 'em, and 
now likely eight. And only one o'm a boy. Well, 
it hath lasted well. Take my advice, lad; if thou 
marry'st, as 'tis likely thou wilt one o' these days, 
for thou'rt growing to an age a lad seeks a hearth, 
make the cradle for thy first-born o' good oak, so 
'twill weather the storms — for thou'lt have need, 
boy — thou'lt have need. 

Bobby. But 'tis not every father hath eight 
children. 

Cap. G. Nay, for some has more. Look at 
my step-son, Jack Sprat — with his two sets o' 
twins! (The clock strikes two) Two o' the 



24 The Little Dog Laughed 

morning! I know not whether to wake up the 

wife or to lie down here until morning dawns 

Bobby. If thou wakest up Mother Goose thou 
art like to wake up the new baby, too. 

Cap. G. What a head the boy hath, to be sure. 
Well, Bob, here be'st warmth and a good rug — 
far softer than some o' the decks I ha' clung to 
all night, and drier; so let us make ourselves com- 
fortable until morning. {He lies down on the 
floor, with the bag in his hand, feet to fire and 
face to audience. Bobby takes the pillow from 
the cradle and puts it on the chair, leaning up 
against it) 

( The Little Dog rises and stretches his neck toward 
the sleepers. Then he turns to the Cat) 
Little D. They're asleep ! ( The Cat solemn- 
ly nods and draws his bow across the strings of his 
fiddle) 

Chorus of unseen children 
Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden 

grow? 
Silver bells and cockle shells, and pretty maids all 
in a row! 
Little D. (As usual) — Pretty maids all in — 
ha, ha! 

(The door, at the back, opens, and Mary Goose 
enters, softly coming down the steps. She 
stops a second, then runs lightly down to the 
sleepers) (She is in her nightgown) 
Mary. Oh, I knew I heard something! My 
father come back — and Bobby! 
Unseen chorus, in which Mary joins (No orches- 
tra) 



The Little Dog Laughed 25 

When he comes back he'll marry me — Pretty Bobby 

Shafto! 
Bobby Shafto's fat and fair, combing down his 

yellow hair! 
He's my love for evermore! 
Prettv Bobbv Shafto! (She hovers near Bobby) 

Little D. (Softly) Bobby— ha, ha! 

Mary. But I must not waken him — that 
would be too bold! But, oh! I wish he would 
waken! Now, if there were only some fairy here 
who would blow in his ear, or 

Little D. (Standing) I might lick his ear 
for you. 

Mary. (Surprised, but not frightened) Who 
art thou? 

Little D. Little Dog is my name. I'm in 
the rhyme, you know; it is my part to laugh when 
the Cow leapeth o'er the moon. I — I am a fairy. 

Mary. (Entranced) Oh, how lovely! 

Little D. Shall I lick his ear? 

Mary. Wilt thou? (He nods) Lick it hard, 
then, and wet, so that he will surely waken. ( The 
Little Dog runs over to Bobby) Wait a moment! 
I must stand where he will see me directly he is 
awake. (She stands between Bobby and her father. 
Bobby faces R ) There ! Now, I am ready, Little 
Dog. ( The Little Dog licks Bobby's ear and 
Bobby at once is awake. Litle Dog scuttles back 
to his place out front) 

Bobby. (Jumping to his feet) Man! 

Mary. (Running to him and giving him her 
hands and curtseying) Bobby Shafto! Hush, we 
must not wake mv father ! 



26 The Little Dog Laughed 

Bobby. How beautiful thou hast become, 
Mary! 

Mary. I do not agree with thee. But thou 
hast changed, Bobby. Let me think — 'tis six 
months since thou hast been gone. Where hast 
thou been? 

Bobby. To the tropics. See, I have brought 
thee these pearls! {Takes string of pearls from 
pocket) 

Mary. {Taking the pearls) Call'st thou these 
pearls! I like them not. 

Bobby. {Hurt) Mary, I thought {Turns 

away) 

Mary. {As soon as his back is turned kisses 
the pearls) Well, I may grow to like them — 
{He turns) — in time. {Puts them on) 

Bobby. Nay, then; give them back to me. I 
will get thee better ones. 

Mary. Not so; I will keep them and wear 
them for thy sake, for thou didst mean well when 
thou didst get them for me. And truly, {half 
aside) they are beautiful pearls. 

Bobby. What said'st thou? 

Mary. I said nothing; I yawned. {Yawns) 
What else didst bring to me? 

Bobby. My true and loving heart. 

Mary. Then thou didst not leave it with some 
black girl in the tropics? 

Bobby. Mary, Mary, quite contrary! Thou 
know'st that when I went away I told thee I 
would be true to thee, and young as I am I asked 
thee to marry me, and thou didst give me thy 
word to be my loving little wife when I returned. 
Well, I have returned. 



The Little Dog Laughed 27 

Little D. Cat, this is no place for us! 
(Half rises) 

Cat. Be still, I want to hear! (Dubiously 
Little Dog sits again) 

Mary. Art thou yet my father's cabin boy? 

Bobby. Aye. But there is one on board 
younger than I, and I take my trick at the wheel 
with the best on 'em, and stand my watch. I 
steered the ship through the breakers to-night! 
And brought her in safely too, and there she lies 
behind the spit, snug and tight. 

Cap. G. (Half rousing) Ratsbane and hys- 
sop! What a craft is this! Methought I did 
hear the voice of a woman! Sure, the ship's be- 
witched. (Sleeps again) 

Mary. I must go now. Bobby, and sure, my 
dress ill becomes me, beside being most improper 
for the eyes of a male person. (She starts away 
but returns and gives Bobby her hands) Dear — 
dear Bobby Shafto! (Goes again and returns) 
I'll see thee in the morning and marry thee 

Bobby. When? 

Mary. When my father shall give his consent. 
(She runs up } stopping on the stair to whisper — ) 
And Bobby. I do love thy pearls! (Exit Mary) 
(Bobby gazes after her, sighs, and again composes 
himself to sleep. The fire dies down, flickers. 
Far away the voices of the unseen children are 
heard singing softly) 
Chorus of unseen children 

Mary, Man-, quite contrary, when wilt thou marry 
me? 

Mary. (Above) Bobby Shafto, I'll be yours 
when vou return from sea. 



28 The Little Dog Laughed 

Little D. Cat! 

Cat. Well, what is't now? 

Little D. Thou should'st have tasted the salt 
behind Bobby's ear. It was heavenly sweet. 

Cat. Thou'rt a silly; salt is not sweet. 

Little D. Not generally, but the salt behind 
Bobby's ear was. And he is full of the loveliest 
smells ! 

Cat. Did'st thou smell white rat? 

Little D. Something like unto that. 

Cat. Hey? 

Cow. {Arousing) Who said hay? 

Cat. Be quiet, Cow, and chew thy cud. (To 
Little Dog) Dost thou truly think 'twas white 
rat? 

Little D. Ay, or maybe a bird. But I was 
so excited I couldn't smell straight. (Yawns) It 
might have been a parrot. 

Cat. A parrot! What use have I for a par- 
rot? I couldn't eat a parrot! (Pause) Little 
Dog ! Little Dog ! ! He's asleep. Cow ! She's 
asleep. Dish! It's asfeep. (Yawns) And I'm 
sleepy myself. (Sleeps). 
Chorus off stage 
Mary, Mary, hey-diddle-diddle, can't you jump 

over the moon? 
(The Cow kicks the moon in her sleep. It re- 
sounds) 
Little Dog, when will you marry the Cat and 

wear your golden shoon? 

And the silver bells struck one o'clock and the 

mouse climbed up on the clock with the 

spoon. 

(A faint rosy light steals in at the windows. The 

soft moaning of the morning breeze is heard) 



The Little Dog Laughed 29 

Cap. G. {Stirring) The wind's from the 
nor'rd, lads; close the hatch. {He sleeps 
again ) 

Bobby. {Talking in his sleep) Beautiful 
Mary! 

{Enter from the left, Mother Goose. She sees 
the sleepers) 

Mother G. Well, I — vum! If 'tis not my 
own blessed man arrived during the night! And 
Bobby Shafto! Ah, he's brought his silver buckles 
back with him all right. The same as when I 
gave 'un to 'm. {She hums a tune and gets a 
shawl from off door L, and throws it over the 
Captain ) 

"Bobby Shafto's gone to sea, silver buckles on his 
knee — 

When he comes back he'll— " 

{Suddenly) Where's that orchestra of mine? They 
ought to play when I sing! {She comes down) 
Poor dears! Asleep, every one of them! Well, 
they have to work hard, they do — especially that 
Cow. Dear knows how many times a day I make 
her jump over the moon when the baby's cutting 
a tooth. And I've had eight! {Takes a look at 
Bobby to see that he is comfortable, then gets 
bellows and kneels in front of the fire, blowing it 
up. The room reddens with the glow of fire and 
rising sun. Spring landscape without. Bobby 
wakens) Well, Bob Shafto, a welcome home to 
thee. I hope thou'st fared well? {She puts the 
chair on which he has been leaning over at upper 
end of fireplace, then crosses right. Bobby is rub- 
bing his eyes) 

Bobby. Dost thou think I could fare other than 
well sailing with thy good man? 'Tis a great 



30 The Little Dog Laughed 

seaman; no man better ever triced up mutineer or 
cheated Davy Jones in an angry sea. 

Mother G. (Having taken a pail from shelf 
under right window) Here, Bobby, go draw me 
a pail of water from the well, and give thine own 
face a splash that will make the sleepy look blush 
as it leaves thee. Is it not a glorious morning? 
(Exit Bobby, UR) Faith, I forgot to put the 
shutters up last night; 'tis lucky there were no 
marauders but you and Eleazer! (She opens the 
right windows) (Waves her hand to the rising 
sun) 

Good morning, sun! 

Another day No! that's not right! 

Good morning, master sun ! 

Another day's begun! (She moves the form 
down center) 

That be's better — and it's a new one, too. I'll 
make a tune for it as soon as those poor beasts 
wake up. (She lifts cradle and takes it up stage. 
Bobby comes in with pail which he sets on shelf, 
right) Here, gi'e me a hand wi' the table. 
(They carry it to the center of the room) So! 
Now, go comb thy yellow pow. (Bobby goes over 
to a glass hanging on wall over the woodbox, up 
right, and with a comb hanging there dresses his 
hair) 
(Sings) 
"Bobby Shafto's fat and fair, combing down his 

yellow hair — " 
(As she sings she goes to fire and makes porridge, 
which is already in the big kettle hanging on the 
crane) And when thou art slicked up, open the 
stair door and gi'e my lass Mar}' a call; she has 



The Little Dog Laughed 31 

surely let herself behind the birds this day! 
{Pushing the cradle up back of table against the 
wall, and -flinging the pillow which Bobby used in 
it as she passes, she gets cloth from cupboard and 
spreads table) I'll put a cloth on in honor of my 
man's safe return. Sure he is sleeping sound. 

Bobby. Mary! Get thee up and down! 
{Calls up stairs) 

Mother G. {At cupboard) Eight including 
me — the baby doesn't use a dish yet — and two more 
is ten. Hm! I've only nine porringers — Boy 
Blue may use the cat's dish. 'Tis clean. {Bobby 
has remained by the fire) Don't idle, Robert! 
Place the chairs, and be sure not to step on the 
Captain. 

Bobby. Sure I know better than to do that, 
Mother Goose. 

Mother G. I like to hear thee call me Mother 
Goose — thou'rt so big and fair. {They are R of 
table. She puts her hands on his shoulders) I'll 
be proud of my own boy when he hath a heft like 
thine. Faith, I like to think, odd times, that thou 
art my boy. {With a knowing nod) 

Bobby. I would like to be thy boy, Mother 
Goose — in very fact. 

Mother G. Nay, thou meanest summat; speak, 
what is't? 

Bobby. Dost not thy rhyme say of me — "When 
he comes back he'll marry me!" That rhyme thou 
didst make for thy daughter Mary when she was 
a baby. That is how I wish to earn the right to 
call thee "Mother." {Pause. Mother Goose turns 
away a minute) My own mother is dead. {She 
turns to him with a bright smile) 



32 The Little Dog Laughed 

Mother G. There, there, lad! At first I 
thought of my Mary as a babe yet; but she is a 
great girl of fifteen, old enough to marry. I was 
the mother of Jack Sprat myself at that age. And 
thou art seventeen, and a great lad — and one can't 
do a good deed too young. So I say — God speed 
thee, and if you can catch my Mary when she is 
not in one of her contrary moods, you may pop the 
question to her, and I doubt me not she will be 
but too glad to ha'ee. 

Bobby. But — the Captain? Will he consent? 

Mother G. Worry not about the Captain. 
'Tis highly probable he'll swear a round dozen 
oaths and threaten to make you both walk the 
plank. But leave me to manage him. {Bobby 
looks amazed) Do not stare so, lad. Have I not 
managed him these sixteen year, and another before 
him? Aye, and you'll be managed too, if I know 
my Polly. There, go and gi'e the lass another 
call. Odd, if she doesn't come down this time 
I'll take the birch to her, big girl that she is. (Goes 
over to fire and stirs porridge) 

Bobby. Mary! {Calls) 

Mary. (Off) Well, am I not coming? (En- 
ter Mary) Why dost thou scream so, Bobby 
Shafto? (She crosses over to glass. Her hair is 
down) 

Mother G. Lilly, lilly, loller! 

Ten o'clock scholar! 
Tut, thou speakest to Bobby as though thou hadst 
parted from him but over night? Art not glad to 
see him home from the seas? 

Mary. (Pretending) What, 'tis really 



The Little Dog Laughed 33 

Bobby! (Runs to him and drops a curtsey) Wel- 
come home, Bobby Shafto. 

Bobby. {Gazing at her, and she at him, both 
suddenly self-conscious) Mary! Ma 

Mother G. Now do not stand there staring at 
each other like a pair of glaze-eyed cats! Come 
here and stir this porridge, Bobby; and Mary, let 
me order thy hair. (She sits on the form in front 
of the table and Mary kneels in front of her, facing 
the audience) Be the brats awake? 

Mary. All, mother. Even Boy Blue. 

Mother G. Seven girls and just one boy — 

A mother's help and father's joy! 
That's a good rhyme, but not for a boy; he might 
think he was the mother's help — when we all know 
men-folk are far from helpful. Stir it good and 
hard, Bob; it mustn't stick. Do I pull, Mary? 

Mary. Yes, mother, thou pullest very sore in- 
deed. 

Mother G. Well, try not to mind it. 'Tis 
difficult to comb hair without pulling it, and be- 
sides, a certain amount of pulling will strengthen 
the roots of it, so my neighbor Mother Hubbard 
saith. 

Mary. I — I think mine is — is strong enough 
without pulling it. 

Mother G. Ay, 'tis wiry hair. 

Mary. I said "strong," mother; not "wiry." 

Mother G. Well, is not wire strong? I did 
say thou hast wiry hair. 

Mary. (Looking sidewise at Bobby, to note 
the effect of this conversation on him) I always 
supposed my hair to be unusually fine. 



34 The Little Dog Laughed 

Mother G. Tut, Miss Vanity! Thy hair is 
good enough for thy rattlepate head, so be thank- 
ful. There, get thy cap and put it on. It is in 
the lowest cupboard drawer. {Mary takes comb 
and puts it on form; it will be needed shortly for 
five other heads. Then she goes up to cupboard 
and gets cap, goes to glass and adjusts it) When 
thou hast done that get the treacle for the porridge. 
It is on the shelf. 

Cap. G. {Rousing) All hands on deck! 
Well, if 'tisn't morning and the sun shining! 
{Rises, bag in hand) So, Ann, I see thee well! 
{He takes her by the ear for a second — she puts 
him off. Bobby is terribly confused at the sight 
of such demonstration) Here, take this; 'tis a 
bit of gold for thee, lass. {Gives her bag) And 
give an account of thyself. 

Mother G. {Puts bag in cupboard) 'Tis glad 
I am to see thee, my man, safe back from another 
voyage. And, what thinkest thou! Thou hast an- 
other child to cry thee a welcome — another girl; I 
have named her Abagail, after thy sister in Plym- 
outh town. 

Cap. G. Another girl! That's the seventh. 
What thinkest thou we'll do for names for the 
next seven? There are only so many girl names 
to be had, and we ha' used most on'm a'ready. 
{He has crossed over to door, up right) 

Mother G. Joke not about the Lord's bless- 
ings, Eleazer; surely thou wouldst rather have 
girl-children than no children at all! 
{Enter Silence, Marjory, Prudence, Faith, Hepsi- 
bah and Benjamin. They are dressed but with 
uncombed heads. All save the boy {who goes 



The Little Dog Laughed 35 

to his mother and hides behind her skirts) go 
to C and formally curtsey to their father) 

Cap. G. (Staring at the children as though 
not quite sure whether they were his or not) 
Ay, but a girl cannot sail a ship or trade in the 
mart. 

Mother G. {Sitting on left end of form, Mary 
beside her, and each with a comb — Silence has 
brought in a comb with her — combs out the hair 
of the children. Mother Goose combs Boy Blue's 
hair, Mary attends to Silence, who, when her hair 
is done, takes a comb from her mother (who fin- 
ishes Boy Blue with the "licked finger") and as- 
sists with the others) No, but she can spin and 
sew and bake and brew, care for the children — 
and sometimes write poetry and make up the music 
to sing it by! 

Cap. G. Foolishness — all foolishness! 

Mother G. Thou limmer! Take thee a look 
at any house in Salem Town, or for that matter, 
in the colony of Massachusetts, and see if any floor 
be whiter sanded, any pewter brighter, the children 
plentier or cleaner or more healthful and happy! 
(Captain Goose shrugs his shoulders good-natured- 
ly and exits to wash his face at the well) And 'tis 
all on account of my rhymes. (She continues, ad- 
dressing her conversation to Bobby) When my 
first child was born I wondered how I could 
teach it to be good and sweet and clean and useful 
without having to say to it all day long — "Do this 
— do not do this" — and as I was thinking it out 
an old goose that was out airing came into my house 
by the open kitchen door and walked into my cham- 
ber there, after first trying to mount the stair. I 



36 The Little Dog Laughed 

watched the stupid thing, and then before I knew 
it I found myself singing: 
"Goosey, goosey-gander, where do you wander? 
Upstairs, and downstairs, and in my lady's cham- 
ber I" 
{The orchestra wakes up, and the Cat tries to get 

the others in line, but it is too late) 
And as I sang it the child in the cradle laughed 
and clapped its hands. And I knew then that I 
could train my children to all their early lessons 
by my rhymes. 

My first child was Jack — Jack Sprat. He mar- 
ried at sixteen. 

Cap. G. {Entering) What's that to Bob? 
Bob isn't thinkin' o' marryin'. Art thinkin' o' 
marryin', Bob? Answer me, thou prawn. 

Bob. 'Twould make me think o't, Captain, to 
hear you talk o't. 

Mother G. Well answered, Bobby. Silence, 
go see if baby is awake. {Exit Silence, left) 

Mary. Why shouldn't Bobby Shafto think of 
marriage, father? He be's a lad o' spirit, and he 
is seventeen. I have heard thee say, father, that 
thou 

Cap. G. Belay there, lass! Enow, I say, or 
I'll think thou'rt making eyes at the yellow-head 
fool thyself. 

Mother G. An' if she were where be's the 
harm? Art thou not teaching Bobby thy trade, 
and will he not have his own ship some day? Tell 
me, is he not good enough for our daughter? 

Cap. G. All this is nonsense, so finish comb- 
ing the lad's hair and gi'e him to me. 



The Little Dog Laughed 37 

Mother G. There, Boy Blue, run to its daddy. 
{Benjamin goes to his father) 

Silence. {Entering up left) Mother, Aba- 
gail is awake. 

Marjory. Mother, may I bring her to 'ee? 

Mother G. Bother me not, Marjory Daw, 
but put the chairs to table. Mary, go get Abagail. 
{Silence, who has been waiting by the door, comes 
in and helps Marjory. The other children go to 
the cupboard and get samplers and work at them) 

Mary. I do not want to, mother. Cannot Si- 
lence {Such mutiny extracts a tremendous snort 

from the Captain. Mary goes forthwith. Boy 
Blue howls and runs to his mother. The Captain 
produces a tiny trumpet from his pocket and gives 
it to Boy Blue, who returns to him long enough to 
get the trumpet) 

Mother G. There, there, did its father scare 
it! Look, a lovely horn! {Sings) 
Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn; 
The sheep's in the meadow; the cow's in the corn — 
{Enter Mary with baby, which she gives to her 
mother. Then she goes over to glass and re- 
arranges her cap) 
Come to its mammy! See, Eleazer, is she not a 
beauty ? 

Cap. G. At that age they're all as alike as 
Chinese. 

Mother G. How can'ee, Captain ! She's a 
beautiful baby, and the very spittin' image of her 
daddy — and he is no Chinee, sure! {She crosses 
down to the front of the stage) Come, puss, wake 
up thy music, for our day has begun. 



3§ The Little Dog Laughed 

Silence. Mother, who art thou talking to? 
Mother G. {Going up to cradle) Ask me 
no questions and I'll tell'ee no lies. 

Little D. {Very softly) Ha, ha! Ha, ha! 
Mary. I know! 

Mother G. What dost thou know? {Mary 
points at the Little Dog, who winks at her) 
{Mother Goose speaks aside, musingly) Well, 
who would think I'd sung of him so often that 
I'd made him real to others as well as to myself! 
{She has dragged the cradle down to the fire again. 
Captain Goose dodges it and crosses R) {Mother 
Goose nods to the cat, who joins in with orchestra) 
"Dance-a-baby-diddy! What shall its mammy do 
wid'ee? 
Sit on her lap, and give it some pap — 
Dance-a-baby-diddy !" 

{She has suited the action to the word. The smaller 

children have dropped their work and dance 

in a circle. Mother Goose puts baby in cradle 

at end of first stanza, rocking it as the refrain 

is repeated at the close by the orchestra alone) 

Little D. {Same bus) A-baby — ha, ha! 

Mother G. There, Eleazer, do not say my 

rhymes are of no use. See, the children, who were 

but half awake, are now as gay as larks and with 

an appetite for their porridge. 

Cap. G. Aye, dancing! Dancing, by the blood 
of the Puritans! We'd best not let the parson, or 
Constable Tommy Tucker hear o't, though. Danc- 
ing! To think that my children should dance — I, 
a righteous, sea-faring — I mean God-fearing — 
man! 

Mother G. Fiddle-de-dee! I've seen thee do 



The Little Dog Laughed 39 

a hornpipe thyself — when on ship. But come, thy 
porringers, children! (She takes the Captain s por- 
ringer and fills it, passing it to Bobby to put on 
the table. Then she takes her stand at the kettle 
and spoons out the porridge as the children pass 
by, oldest first. They sit as follows: 

Mary, Bobby, Silence, Boy Blue, 
Captain G. Mother Goose 

Marjory, Faith, Prudence, Cradle 
And now let us hear the news of thy voyage, 
Eleazer; or wilt thou be as dumb this time as well 
as on other occasions? 

Cap. G. Why, 'twas a good voyage on the 
whole, as voyages go, and the ship has returned 
without need of serious repairs. She's a good craft 
and runs well either before a gale or into the teeth 
o't. 

Mother G. By the feel o' the weight o' the 
bag you brought we'll suffer neither for food nor 
warmth for a while. 

Cap. G. 'T is a risky calling, the sea. Is't not, 
Bob? 

Bobby. Ay, ay, sir. 

Cap.G. And a sailor lad would be doing a lass 
an injustice were he to ask her to marry him 
while he pursued such a calling, would he not? 

Bobby. Sure 'tis a risky trade, Captain, and 
'twould be a sore thing to have to leave a lass be- 
hind when one went abroad — not knowing but she 
might some time think him lost and give her heart 
to another. 

Cap. G. My Mary would never be so untrue, 
be she never so contrary. Would'st thou, lass? 

Mary. I might. I cannot tell. 



40 The Little Dog Laughed 

Cap. G. Take my advice, lass, and never marry 
a sailor. 

Mary. If I be so contrary as thou say'st, 
father, 'tis like I will marry a sailor if thou tellest 
me not to. 

Cap. G. Keep thy impertinent tongue to thy- 
self, lass; if thou marryest a sailor ! 

Mother G. {Taking his porringer) Have 
some more porridge, Eleazer. (Sings with orches- 
tra) 

Bean porridge hot! Bean porridge cold! 
Bean porridge in the pot nine days old! 
(Business of this done by Marjory and Faith) 
But small chance hath bean porridge — or any 
other meat for matter of that — to grow to nine 
days of age in this house ! If one mess lasts a meal, 
with scrapings to the cat, 'tis well. But even the 
cat is well-fed in this household. (A knock on the 
door at the back) Go open the door, Mary. 
(Mary goes to door) (Enter Old Mother Hub- 
bard with her dog) 

Mary. Good morning, Mother Hubbard! 
(Little Dog growls a little at sight of the stranger 
dog) 

Mother H. (Very ill at ease) Good morn- 
ing; I— I 

Mother G. (Rising and offering her chair, at 
the same time moving the cradle up) Here, sit 
'ee down, Mother Hubbard, and have a stomach- 
ful of good bean porridge. 'Tis a coolish morning 
if the sun do be shining. 

Mother H. (Curtseying to the Captain) I — 
I 

Mother G. (Gently pushing her over to the 



The Little Dog Laughed 41 

chair) There, there! There be's a plenty i' the 
pot, and I ha' finished. (She takes her porringer 
over to the shelf, washes it and returning fills it 
from the pot.) And we'll find some scraps for 
your dog later. (At mention of the dog Mother 
Hubbard cries) A beautiful spring morning it is, 
to be sure! (Mother Hubbard shivers) Why, 
art thou cold? Here, bring thy chair to the fire, 
and ha' thy porridge there. (Moves her to hearth) 
Children, clear the table. (Cap. Goose lights a 
clay pipe which he gets from mantel and sits at 
upper end of hearth, smoking. Bobby takes bucket 
and goes for more water. Table is cleared and 
porringers washed with water from kettle on 
hearth. Table and form and chairs replaced) 
Art warmer now, Goody? (Mother Goose sits and 
knits — she carries knitting in a capacious pocket — 
rocking cradle) 

Mother H. Aye, I be w r armer; for a fire does 
feel good when a body's old. 

Cap. G. Hast thou no fire in thine own house, 
Mother? 

Mother H. (Hangs head and draws hands 
over one another) I — I 

Cap. G. Speak, dame. 'Tis no shame to have 
no fire; merely a misfortune. 

Mother H. I have — have no wood to burn. 
I — I am a very poor woman, Captain. (Bobby 
enters and talks to Mary as she washes dishes) 

Cap. G. (Rises) No wood? In this uncer- 
tain spring weather! Dost tell me Salem Town 
has in it good bodies like thyself who are a-cold 
for want of a little wood? By the great salt seas, 
I'll let some on'm know! Where be's that damned 



42 The Little Dog Laughed 

constable — our Neighbor Tucker, that he hath not 
sent ye wood? I told him to keep an eye out for 
ye when I went away. Bob, go to the barn and 
hitch up the big mare to the wagon; I'll be wi'ee 
straight. (Exit Bobby, RU) Fear not, Goody 
Hubbard, thou shalt ha' wood enow ere long. 
(Starts R) 

Mother H. You — you are very good, Cap- 
tain, but I fear 'twill do but little good now. I — 
I — I am to go to the — poorhouse to-day. 

Captain G. The poorhouse? The devil! 

Mother G. Nay, Eleazer, swear not! 

Captain G. I will swear, and big round oaths 
at that ! To think that our kind old neighbor should 
be in this plight! Didst thou know aught of this, 
Ann? 

Mother G. Not a word, I vow. (Refills 
Mother Hubbard's porringer) 

Captain G. 'Tis well for thee and thy next 
new frock that thou did'st not know. A murrain 
on't! Here — where's that bag I gave thee, Ann? 
(Alary brings it to him) 

Mary. Here it is, father. 

Mother H. I do not indeed so much mind 
going to the poorhouse myself, for I am an old 
body and not like to live long, being much broke 
in spirit. But — but — my dog — they will not let 
me keep him there — and he hath been my faithful 
friend these many years, and indeed he is a good 
dog — and they say they will drown him. I — I — 
cannot see him drowned — indeed I cannot. And 
I came here to ask you, Neighbor Goose, if thou 
would'st care for him for me — he cannot live long, 
for he is old, like me — and he doth eat but little. 

Mary. Indeed, he looks hungry now. 



The Little Dog Laughed 43 

Mother H. He is, lassie. Only this morning I 
went to my cupboard to get him a bone which I 
was sure I had put there yesterday. It was one 
I — I found in the street. But the bone was gone 
— and the cupboard as bare as my hand. {Little 
Dog looks very, very guilty) I suspect some thiev- 
ing dog did get in and steal it. Some dogs be 
very clever that way, and the button on my cup- 
board is very loose, being old, and doth often slip. 
Would'st thou mind if I shared my porridge with 
him? 

Mother G. Nay, Mother, eat it all thyself. 
I've a mess for thy dog. (She goes to cupboard 
and gets a meal for dog, who eats on hearth) 

Captaix G. And fear not for the future of 
thy dog, Mother. He'll be well cared for, and 
thou wilt be, too, and the poorhouse get along 
without thee. Here (pours gold into her lap) is 
gold for thee, and there's more where that came 
from so long as my ship sails fast. A pestilence on 
all taxes! So, warm thee at the fire, and care 
for her well, wife. When I return thy house will 
have wood to keep it warm — thy chimney will be 
smoking, and thy cubboard full of bones for thy 
good dog and good victual for thyself. (Gives 
bag to Mary) (Bobby has come back) So, come 
along, Bob, and we'll celebrate this day with a 
betrothal when we return! (He draws Mary to 
him and joins her hand to Bobby's) 

Mary. Father! Dear father! 

Bobby. Cap'n! 

Mother G. What did I tell 'ee! 

Captain G. So come along, Bob, and we'll 
fill the widow's woodshed for her! (Exit with 
Bobby, RU) 



44 The Little Dog Laughed 

Mother H. It's just like a fairy-tale! 
Mother G. It is a fairy-tale, and I made it 
up ! I'm the biggest fairy in Salem Town. Come, 
Cat, with thy fiddle, and thy orchestra, and sit'ee 
here on the table, and we'll make the morning 
merry as a cricket! 

(The Cow puts the drum [moon] on the table 
and mounts up beside it, the Dish takes left 
and the Cat right, sitting on table with feet 
on the form. The Little Dog is center, on 
form. Mother Goose gives a hand to Old 
Mother Hubbard, whom she puts in the cen- 
ter of a ring, all the others dancing about her 
as the orchestra plays) 
All. Old Mother Hubbard, she went to the 
cupboard, 
To get her poor dog a bone. 
Mother H. But when she got there the cup- 
board was bare, 
And so her poor dog had . . . 
{All dance, she joins them) 
All. Hey diddle-diddle, the cat and the fiddle, 
{Cow bus) 
The cow jumped over the moon! (Little 

Dog laughs and capers) 
The Little Dog laughed to see such sport, 

(Dish bus) 

That the Dish ran away with the . . . 

Mary, Mary, Quite contrary, how does 

your garden grow? (Mary C) 

(The girls range in a row) 

Mary. Silver bells and cockle shells and pretty 

maids all in a . . . 
Mother G. (Snatching the baby from the 
cradle and dancing with it) 



The Little Dog Laughed 45 

Rock-a-bye, baby, in the tree-top, 
When the wind blows the cradle doth rock. 
All. When the bow bends the cradle doth 
fall — (Toss baby up) 
And down will come baby and cradle and 
all! 
Little D. (To audience) Don't worry, it 
isn't a real baby, you know. 

Mary. Bobby Shafto's gone to sea, silver 
buckles on his knee! 
When he comes back he'll marry me! 
All. Pretty Bobby Shafto! 

Bobby Shafto's fat and fair, combing down 
his yellow hair — 
Mary. (Extending a hand to Bobby, who en- 
ters) 

He's my love for evermore! 
All. Pretty Bobby Shafto! 
Little D. B-obby ha, ha! 
All. Mary Contrary she went to the cupboard 
To get Mother Hubbard a comb; 
The Cow ran away with the Hey-diddle- 

diddle, 
And the Little Dog started to roam. 
Dance- a-baby, di-iddle-de-diddle — 
The pretty maids ate up the pap; 
The Spoon and the cockle-shells played 

on the fiddle 
And Old Mother Hubbard jumped over 

the moon; 
The Little Dog laughed to see such sport, 
that the Dish ran away with the 
Spoon! 
(Music and dance continue as curtain falls on 
Part One) 



PART TWO 

The day following Part One. Mid-morning. The 
same scene. The room has received a special 
furbishing for the wedding of Mary and 
Bobby. All the Goose brood, in their best 
bib-and-tucker , are seated about. Mother 
Goose is putting final touches to the curly 
head of Marjory. The girls are working at 
their samplers. Boy Blue is knitting reins 
with a spool. 
Mother G. Marjory Daw, I never saw thy 
like! Plaster thy black hair with soap, even, and 
then it will not keep flat. {Sings without accom- 
paniment) 

Baa, baa, black sheep, hast thou any wool ? 
Yes, sir, yes, sir — three bags full! 
Dost remember the rhyme I set thee when thou 
wast a babe? It was our neighbor Tucker's black 
sheep I sang about, and the Constable himself was 
"the little boy that lives down the lane." (Sings 
the last part) 

Silence. Mother, after our sister Mary will 
I be the next one to marry? 

Mother G. If thou holdest thy tongue and 
art wise, cheerful and industrious, thou mayst be 
indeed. But think not o' marriage, chit; work 
thy sampler, learn to make good bread and butter, 
to sew, to brew, and to tend fowl and keep a good 
46 



The Little Dog Laughed 47 

kitchen-garden. (She goes about, fixing the room, 
giving her own hair an extra smoothing at the 
glass, and examining the samplers) 

Prudence. (Sitting always with downcast 
eyes) Mother, will our Mary have another hus- 
band after Bobby Shafto dies, as thou didst? 

Mother G. Prudence Goose, whatever put 
that idea in thy noddle? 

Prudence. I would hardly think it to be fair 
of her to have had two husbands unless all her 
sisters were married first — that is, the older ones. 

Mother G. Tut, whiffet, she hasn't married 
one yet! 

Marjory. (Peering out the open door: she is 
sitting on the right end of the form. Silence is on 
stool by spinning-wheel at R) Mother, I can see 
some one coming. 

Mother G. Sit straight-backed, all on ye, and 
sew diligently then. 

(Enter Old Mother Hubbard, a younger woman 
by many years than she was yesterday. She 
does not look a day over sixty to-day. She 
stops in the doorway and drops a curtsey, rest- 
ing on her stick) 

Mother G. (Curtseying) Welcome, Mother 
Hubbard. 'Tis a beautiful Spring day. You are 
looking so well this day, too. 

Mother H. And 'tis well I should be, too, 
with all the kindness shown me by thy goodman 
and thee. (She crosses to the chair by the fire, to 
which Mother Goose ushers her) 

Boy Blue. Mother Hubbard, where is thy 
dog, if you please? (L on form) 

Mother H. Faith, he has eaten so much vie- 



48 The Little Dog Laughed 

tual since yesterday that he can hardly waddle 
from my door! 

Marjory. Mother, some one else is coming! 
{Enter Peter Piper, a crusty old bachelor. He 
walks with a cane) 

Mother G. How dost thou, Neighbor Peter? 
'Tis a beautiful day. I hope I see thee well this 
day? 

Peter P. Ay, I be well. And the weather 
be fine. I planted punkins this mornin'. 

Mother G. Didst thou indeed? {When not 
otherwise occupied she produces her knitting from 
her capacious pocket) 

Peter P. And I ha' plenty o'm left in cellar 
for pies until these be growed. 

Mother G. 'Tis a marvel to me how ye keep 
'em, Neighbor. 

Peter P. 'Tis because that I be so powerful 
fond o' the fruit. 

Mother G. {Observing the social amenities) 
Neighbor, here is Mother Hubbard — wilt sit and 
crack wi' her? {She passes Peter across) 

Peter P. Ay. {Crosses) Good mornin', 
Mother Hubbard. 

Mother H. Good morning, Neighbor Piper. 
'Tis a fine day, neighbor. 

Peter P. {Getting a chair which is up left 
and bringing it down to her right. Sits) Ay, it 
be good growin' weather. I planted punkins this 
mornin' ! 

Mother H. Did ye indeed? 

Peter P. Ay. And I've punkins in my cellar 
to last me for pies till these be growed to pickin'! 



The Little Dog Laughed 49 

Mother H. You was always fond o' punkins, 
Peter Piper. 

Peter P. Ay. I'm a punkin eater, neighbor. I 
dare say I be the biggest eater o' punkins in the 
colony o' Massachusetts! 

Mother H. Dost remember the first winter 
you was here and there wa'n't no punkins? 

Peter P. Ay, 'twas a long and dreary winter 
for me. 

Mother H. 'Tis odd thou'st always remained 
in the holy bond o' bachelor life, Peter. 

Peter P. Ay, 'tis odd, neighbor. 

Mother H. There be good housewives to be 
had for the askin', Peter. 

Peter P. Ay. But can any on'm bake a pie 
o' punkin to suit me ? 

(Captain Goose appears at the door, up left, in 
horrible negligee) (He carries a new suit in 
his hand) 

Captain G. Goodwife, try as I will I cannot 
get the hang o' these new duds o' thy makin'! I 
must have thy help — and Bob, here, trying to hoist 
sail for the splicing, has run on a reef, and can- 
not without salvage get off. Faith, he knows not 
which part of his new breeches be'st fore or aft! 
(Mother Goose, much confused, exits with her dis- 
tressed man. She says as she goes out: 

Mother G. Silence, go thou upstairs and tend 
on thy sister Mary, and Marjory, receive the guests 
until my son's wife arriveth. (Exit Mother Goose, 
up left, and Silence up the stairway) 
(Marjory , swelling with importance, stands. She 
goes to the door and looks out, then runs back 



50 The Little Dog Laughed 

to her place lest she be caught peeping. Pru- 
dence takes M.ar]orie's place on the form. 
Other children move up one) 

Mother H. {After the pause necessitated to 
recover the proprieties) I myself can bake a tol- 
erable punkin pie, old as I be. 

Peter P. Ay, thou art indeed an old woman, 
Mother Hubbard. That is why thou art called 
Old Mother Hubbard. 'Tis because thou art OLD! 
{He cackles at his wit) Why, I remember you 
was here in the colony when I arrived. 

Mother H. I be'ant so powe'ful old at that, 
Peter, for I was born in the colony, and 'tis every- 
where spoke of as a young colony. 

Peter P. You might be ninety even so, neigh- 
bor. 

Mother H. I'm not ninety, though, or even 
nigh it! But even ninety be'ant so old; there's 
many a spry, brisk lass o' ninety! 

Peter P. Ay, but can they bake a pie o' pun- 
kin? 

Mother H. An' if they could not, there's time 
enow to learn ! ( Grins at him ) With a good an' 
loving husband to teach 'un. 

Peter P. {Crossing his legs meditatively) 
There's reason in that, dame. There be reason in 
that reply. For as all know, the pie may be crusty 
wi'out, but its heart is sweet. 

{Prudence catches Marjory in an unguarded mo- 
ment) 

Prudence. Some one cometh, Marjory! 
{Enter Thomas Tucker, constable and collector- 
of -duties of Salem Town) 



The Little Dog Laughed 51 

{Marjory is tongue-tied with the responsibilities of 
her high position) 

Prudence. Speak to Constable Tucker, Mar- 
jory! 

Marjory. How dost thou, sir. 'Tis a beauti- 
ful day. I hope thy punkins is well. 

Tucker. {Who is horribly sensitive) My 
punkins, child! Thou impudent brat; dost mean 
to hurl insult at an officer of His Majesty! 

Marjory. I beg thy pardon, sir — there be — be 
— so many punkins in Salem Town. I forgot 

Peter P. {Overhearing a part and coming 
forward) What's that about punkins? Good 
morning, Constable Tucker. 'Tis a fine day. I 
been plantin' punkins this mornin'. 

Tucker. {Who is a small man and very pep- 
pery) Ah, hast thou? Hm, hm. {Settling his 
choler and his collar at the same time, and with a 
final terrible look at the scarlet Marjory* he turns 
to discussion of the occasion) Ha, a joyous occa- 
sion when youth and beauty are joining hands and 
hearts. Ahem. {Peter steals a look at Mother 
Hubbard as though she might be the object of a 
part of Tuckers remark) 

Peter P. Ay, a marriage be a joyous occasion, 
I presume to say — especially if the wife be a good 
constructor o' punkin pies. {He makes room for 
Tucker to pass him and go over to Mother Hub- 
bard, who sits on the chair by the fire) 

Tucker. How dost thou, Mother Hubbard? 
I am glad to see thee so well. 

Mother H. Sit 'ee down, Neighbor Tucker, 
sit 'ee down. Thou'll find the chair all warmed 



52 The Little Dog Laughed 

for 'ee; Neighbor Peter hath just left it. The 
men folk are attentive to me to-day. {Titters) 
{Enter Mother Goose) 

Mother G. How dost thou, Neighbor Tuck- 
er — 'tis a beautiful day? {Curtseys. His manner 
to her is a trifle stiff) {He crosses down, taking 
another chair, upon seeing which Mother Hubbard 
moves to the chair that Peter Piper vacated, forcing 
Tucker to place his chair at her right. Peter takes 
the chair by fire — the one vacated by Mother Hub- 
bard) 

Silence. {Appearing at the stair door. In a 
whisper) Mother! Mary will not let me help 
her at all! {She makes a mysterious gesture which 
means stays and nothing but stays to the female 
eye and understanding) And she cannot do it 
herself. Not possibly. {Exit Mother Goose. It 
is an urgent call. Silence comes down and tries 
to take her old place on the receiving line, but her 
understudy, Marjory, refuses to budge, and so they 
stand side by side, jealously waiting for the next 
comer) 

Tucker. {To Mother Hubbard) Ay, they 
can cook. But can they make good white bread? 
I always must have white bread to my supper. 

Peter P. Thy dyspepsia would not trouble 
thee so hard, neighbor, if thou would'st eat pun- 
kin pie to the supper! 

Mother H. {Tittering) Sirs, sirs! Let us 
have no altercations on a wedding day! — Even if 
it is not our own! 
{Enter Jacky Horner, a fat, selfish, spoiled child) 

Jacky. {As soon as he is in the room delivers 
the following, in which he has been trained) Good 



The Little Dog Laughed 53 

morning neighbor 'tis a beautiful day my mother 
will be here anon. 

(Seeing that he has repeated this to no one but 
Marjory he goes over it to Prudence, his 
eyes off to one side until he is through, when 
he sees his mistake. Then he starts over to 
the older people by the fireside, feeling sure 
that he is right this time) 
Good morning 'tis a beautiful day my mother 

(Sees he is in the wrong again, and seeing the 

woodbox over in the corner retreats to that coveted 
spot where he sits, eating the piece of bread and 
butter he has brought with him in his hand) 
(Enter Miss Muffet, a tiny, tittery and rather bit- 
ter spinster of forty summers and as many 
frosty winters. She has a superior smile and 
is very neat of slipper and ankle) 
Miss M. How dost thou, lasses, on this 
(Weeps) joyous occasion? 

Silence. I hope thou 

Marjory. I hope thou art well. 'Tis a beau- 
tiful day. Will ye be seated? My mother is up- 
stairs 

Silence. (In a low tone) My mother is with 
my sister. 

Miss M. I see. (Abashed) Where shall I 
sit? (Sees the footstool on the hearth) Oh, there 
is a tuffet! I never can refuse to sit on a tuffet! 
(She sidles over to the hearth) How dost thou, 
Mother Hubbard? 

Mother H. (Scenting a rival) I am well, 
I thank thee, Neighbor Muffet. But are you not 
afraid to sit so close to the ground ; there be spiders 
about. I vum. And 'tis known thou'rt afeard o'm. 



54 The Little Dog Laughed 

Miss M. Have ye seen any? {Rises) 

Silence. (Coming forward. She has the fam- 
ily reputation on her shoulders) Thee need not 
fear, Miss Muffet; my mother is death to spiders. 
(Just then Mother Goose returns from above) 

Mother G. That am I. How dost thou, 
Neighbor Muffet. 'Tis a beautiful day; is't not! 
Be seated, Miss Muffet; nor spider nor any other 
creeping beast findeth lodgment in my house ! (Miss 
Muffet sits) 

(Bobby Shafto sticks his head in at the left door. 
He whispers excitedly) 

Bobby. Mother! I ha' got 'em on at last. 
Wilt thou come and see if they be all right? They 
feel queer i' the after part! (Mother Goose pushes 
him out, distressed herself) 

Mother G. Silence, go up again to thy sis- 
ter! (She hurries out left) 

Silence. (To the still nervous Marjory) Now 
do not say the wrong thing again, miss. (Marjory 
sticks her tongue out) I will tell mother on thee! 

Marjory. Tell-tale-tit! Your tongue shall 
be 

Silence. Does thee want me to pinch thee? 
(Exit the elder sister Silence) 

Miss M. I can scarce tell, masters, with which 
one I agree; for white bread is good, and punkins 
be good, too. And, (smoothing her skirt) I am 
an excellent baker o' both. 

Mother H. Ay, but thou hast never cooked 
for a man, and that man thy husband! And 'tis 
one thing to bake for women-folk, and quite an- 
other to make a mess will satisfy the stomach of a 



The Little Dog Laughed 55 

hungry man! I know, for I ha ? had the experi- 
(She smooths HER skirt) 

Miss M. Experience is well, dear Old Mother 
Hubbard, but surely the fresh aspirations of the 
virgin bride may lead to better understanding o' 
her husband's needs than even the "experience" 
of any wrinkled widow could! 

Mother H. Tut, thou speakest like the green 
thing that thou art! {She suddenly fastens her 
gaze at a point Muffet s back) (Miss 

Muffet turns, alarmed) 

Iffiss M. Mother Hubbard, what lit then 
looking at so intently? 

Mother H. I dare swear I am mistook, but 
I am quite sure that I saw a big spider on thy 
back (She makes a dab and smacks Miss Muf- 
fed s back with vicious satisfaction. Miss M. 
screams and darts to right, but is caught in the 
chivalrous arms of Tucker, who has arisen to the 
Miss Muffet allows herself to fall limp 
in his arms) Thee need not feign such a fright, 
thou hussy, for I killed one on 'em at least. 

Miss M. Oh. oh! I thank thee. Neighbor 
Thomas — I mean, dear Tucker — I always think 
of thee as dear Thomas — I mean I am so grateful 
for thy support — kindness. No, I will take my 
tuflet again, now that the creature is no more. 
(Sits. Tucker sUs) 

Mother G. (Entering as Silence re-enters, 
and speaking to the latter) No wonder they felt 
queer; he had 'em on wrong side to! (Silence u 
pers her with earnestness) What? On her wed- 
ding-nay? (Silence nods and Mother G., with 



56 The Little Dog Laughed 

determined look and mien, takes down the birch 
from its place on the wall, at which action the 
hypnotized gaze of every gosling in the room fol- 
lows her until she goes aloft. Even then, for a 
space, they stare at the ceiling. Mother Goose goes 
up to settle the difficulty — whatever it may be. 
Silence whispers mysteriously to Marjory. Miss 
Muffet and Tucker engage in conversation. Mother 
Hubbard and Peter Piper talk. They have not 
observed the switch incident) 

Marjory. What? On her wedding day? 

Silence. Hm, hm. 

Prudence. (Next nearest) What is it, Mar- 
jory? (Marjory whispers) What? On her wed- 
ding day? 

Marjory. Hm, hm. 

Faith. Tell me, sister Prudence. (Prudence 
whispers) What? Not on her wedding-day^ 

Prudence. Hm, hm. 

Hepsibah. Tell me it, Faith; please you, tell. 
(Faith whispers) What, on — her — wedding-day? 
(In an awestruck whisper) 

Faith. Hm, hm. 

Benjamin. Boy Blue wants to know. 

Hepsibah. Can not tell little boys. 

Benjamin. Tell Boy Blue! 

Silence. Something going to happen to sister 
Mary for being contrary with me on her wedding- 
day. 

Benjamin. What (Just then Mary's voice 

is heard above, saying "I WILL NOT!" It is 
instantly followed by the unmistakable sound of 
the birch in contact with some one's person — pre- 



The Little Dog Laughed 57 

sumably that of the eldest daughter of Mother 
Goose. All the children look up simultaneously, 
as in hopes that the ceiling might become miracu- 
lously transparent. The older children also ele- 
vate their gaze, then look at one another with 
raised eyebrows) 

Benjamin. {Squirming in his rather tight 
trousers at the familiar sound) What, on her 
wedding day? 

Miss M. Some one must be killing spiders up- 
stairs ! 

Mother H. {Sniffing contemptuously) Ve-ry 
likely! {To Peter) I tell 'ee, / wouldn't allow 
an unmarried woman to bake for my dog! 

Miss M. Oh, thou hast a dog, hast not ! ( To 
Tucker) I have a cat. {To Peter) She is so 
fond o' punkin. {To Tucker) And white bread! 
{Mother Goose, triumphant, returns. She hangs 
the birch in its place. A sigh of relief comes 
from all the goslings as the instrument of cor- 
rection is disposed of. It might go the rounds 
on occasion, you know) 

Mother G. {As Silence rises, as though to 
return to Mary) Silence, thee need not go to thy 
sister; she will finish by herself. 

Jacky H. {Seeing Mother Goose unoccupied 
for a moment) How dost thou it is a beautiful 

day my mother will be here anon {And at 

just this moment his mother enters. Goody Horner 
is a farmers widow, thrifty, rosy and plump) 
{Jacky hies to his corner) 

Mother G. How dost, Goody Horner; thy 
son was just telling me thou wert on the way. 



58 The Little Dog Laughed 

(Goody gives a glance of meaning at Jacky. He 
looks out of the window) 'Tis a beautiful day. 
And how is thy farm coming on? 

Goody Horner. Why, well. When my good- 
man dies I thinks I can never run it by myself, and 
Jacky there eating his head off, and the other five 
o'm the same. But 'tis a good farm with but 
little stone, which is rare hereabout. So I yoked 
my oxen and drove my plough, and to-day I can 
defy any New England winter as comes. The 
panthers be bad wi' the sheep, and the wolves, but 
even this hulk of a boy is a good shot wi' the flint- 
lock and hath brought down his varmint, so I am 
in a fair way to success and beholden to none. 

Peter P. (Rising) Ahem! (Crosses to cen- 
ter) Ay, thou hast a fine farm, Goody Horner, 
but thy punkins can not beat mine raised here in 
town for quality or — ahem — quantity. 

Goody H. Tis true, and I be so fond o' them, 
too. 

Tucker. (Rises) And — (Mother Hubbard 
and Miss Muffet restrain him. He sits) Ahem. 
(Captain Goose pokes his head in L door) 

Captain G. (In a tone of agony) Wife!!! 
(Exit) (Exit Mother Goose after him) 

Peter P. Wilt join us by the hearth, Goody 
Horner? 

Goody H. Why, this corner where my Jacky 
is is good enough for me. Let us not crowd 
Mother Hubbard — how dost, Mother? — and Miss 
Muffet — how dost, Miss? — Jacky, join the other 
brats on the form. (Jacky goes over to the form. 
Peter Piper and Goody Horner sit on the woodbox. 
She is apparently telling him of the wonders of 



The Little Dog Laughed 59 

her farm, and he is much fascinated. She has 
him) 

(Re-enter Mother Goose with Captain Goose in 
tow. He is in a new-made Puritan costume 
and looks frightfully uncomfortable. She 
guides him around) 

Captain G. (To Tommy Tucker) How dost 
thou, neighbor? Mother Hubbard, glad to see 
thee. Mistress Muffet? (He is led across to R) 
How dost, Peter? Goody Horner? (Left alone 
as Mother Goose goes up to sort over her children, 
he looks about a moment, seems to see safety on 
the hearth and stalks over there as though avoiding 
reefs and sunken wrecks on the way. Miss Muf- 
fet sees him approach and taking her stool crosses 
up right. Tucker rises and stands by the Captain. 
Peter Piper, seeing Miss Muffet approach, deserts 
Goody Horner and seeks mens society on the 
hearth rug. Jacky Horner looks slowly around 
and joins the men, standing with his back to the 
fire. He has no coat-tails under which to put his 
hands, but assumes the proper position. Never 
mind — coat-tails grow, like other things. Goody 
Horner joins Mother Goose, who has begun a con- 
versation with Miss Muffet. Mother Hubbard 
moves one chair to the right, but otherwise holds 
her ground. She hangs on a bit too long; we think 
she will get left by and by) 

Mother G. Now all are here but my son and 
his wife. 

Marjory (Tagging after her mother) And 
their children. 

Mother G. Tut, Marjory Daw, go to thy 
sampler! Dost not remember: How doth the little 



60 The Little Dog Laughed 

busy bee — ? Come, children, sing it for our 
guests! (She beats time and gives them the tune) 
(The children stand and sing the first verse of 

"HOW DOTH THE LITTLE") 

(Guests nod approval. The children are much 
confused and sit again, bending over their sam- 
plers. All except Boy Blue, who takes credit 
for the whole performance) 
Goody H. Is that thy rhyme, Mother Goose? 

I thought 

Mother G. Faith Goody, I hardly know 
whether it is or no. Indeed, it might well be, 
however, for I've mothered the poor thing, and 
I doubt an adopted child may become most as near 
in love as one blood-born. Ah, here comes one 
blood-born, though — my first — my dear Jack 
Sprat! (Aside to Goody) He would never be 
late but for his wife! I'd wager — if 'twere not 
wicked to do so — that she'll be late for her own 
funeral, and escape a burying. 

(Enter Jack Sprat, a small man, old-young and 
much hen-pecked, and Jean, his thin, loud wife. 
Each carries a swaddling twin. They are fol- 
lowed by Jack and Jill, their twin-eldest, and 
Georgie-Peorgie, their .middle production) 
(Little Jack's face is plastered with brown 
paper) 
Mother G. Well, better late than never, Jack. 
How dost thou, Jean. 'Tis a beautiful day! Gi'e 
'em to their grammy! (She takes the infant 
twins) Bless 'em for little darlings! I never can 
resist a baby! Shall I take 'em in and put 'em in 
the cradle wi' my Abagail — 'tis roomy enough for 
three 



The Little Dog Laughed 6 1 

Jean. No. Gi'm back to me. Here, Jack, 
take you the girl. How dost thou, Goody Horner. 
Miss Muffet. (Crosses over to Mother Hubbard 
and screams at her) How art thou, Mother? 
Dost keep 'ee well these raw days? 

Mother H. (Screaming back at her) 'Ee 
needn't scream! I'm not deef! 

Jean. (Screaming louder) I know. Art thou 
well? 

Mother H. (Screaming) Fresh as a kitten! 
Thy brats w T ell o' the cough? 

Jean. Y-es! No! Troublesome! Sent the 
twins — not these — the big ones — up to the spring 
on the hill for a pail o' water and that Jack 
stumbled and fell on the way down, and Jill and 
the bucket on top o'm, and got a cut on's crown. 
Well, we were all ready to come and they were 
dirt from top to toe. Well! I whipped them 
well, had to dress 'em all over and Jack had to 
come with his head plastered up with vinegar and 
brown paper. (Turns to Jack) I'll give you 
another beating to-night, too! (The twins give a 
shivering start) Don't stand there in the way — 
go over wi' the other children on the form. (Jill 
does so, but Jack sees the men on the hearth and 
joins them. Georgie follows) 

Cap. G. (Who has been talking to the men) 
Ay, she be's a tight dory. She's right hardby on 
the dock. Would'st like to see her? (Captain 
Goose goes out, followed by all the men and boys 
except Jack Sprat, who has stood where he first 
found himself upon entering the room. He makes 
an irresolute move) 

Jean. Well, Jack Sprat, art going to remain 



62 The Little Dog Laughed 

wi' th' women-folk or take thy place wi' the men? 
If thee wants to go wi' thy kind, go, i' the name 
o' conscience! (He still wavers) We'll not miss 
thee ! 

Jack. Well, thee take the girl baby, then, and 
gie me the boy. (They exchange twins and he 
exits with his youngest son and the other men) 

Mother G. Thou speakest full sharply to my 
son, Jean. 

Jean. Well, mother, forgi'e me. But a man 
is a very hulk to manage. 

Mother G. Mother Goose has been known in 
her family as summat o' a manager herself. 
Silence! examine the samplers now, and those that 
be well done, collect them. — Be firm, Jean, but 
never let thyself be ugly or threaten. These low- 
rumbling thunderstorms that come up o' hot 
weather mean nothing. 'Tis the strong, sudden 
ones that execute. 

Miss M. (Pensively) I cannot understand 
how a woman could be unkind to a man! Oh, it 
seemeth to me that he is the very king of beasts! 

Mother G. (Aside to Goody Horner) Poor 
thing ! 

Mother H. (Nodding) A man hath his 
place, surely. But, ah, Mother Goose, none of 
other women can have hope of meeting so grand a 
creature as thy husband is! 

Mother G. Why, the Captain is well — for a 
man. He's well. 

Goody H. How compares he with thy first, 
Mother? 

Mother G. Ah, neighbor, what a fool would 



The Little Dog Laughed 63 

the woman be who should compare one o' the bless- 
ings o' the Lord wi' another! The best way is to 
take 'em all as we take children — love 'em 
all alike, do one's best by 'em, and like it is wi' my 
Mary who is married this day, weep a tear, maybe, 
when no one is looking, when they leave one. 

Jean. {With her twin across her knee, jounc- 
ing it) Thou thinkest that yellow-headed sprig 
o'boy, Bob Shafto, is a likely spouse for thy Mary? 

Mother G. Ay, do I. And a wholesome. 
He lacks a bit of strength in 's will, but I doubt 
he'll gain in that regard when he has to deal wi' 
some o' the lass's contrary streaks. Odd! she had 
one o'm this very morning not an hour ago. 'Twas 
over the hang o' her frock, which, as we women 
all know, is a serious matter, but not enow to go 
into a passion over. Well, she did declare to me 
that she wouldn't be married until I had resewn 
the skirt. I knew 'twas well sewn, and all was 
needed was patience. Then she shot out her lip 
at me, and refused to dress, and I just turned her 
over my knee and gave her the birch well — I had 
it held back of me. Bl'ess me, you should have seen 
the good it did her. I had no sooner let her up 
than she threw her arms about my neck, and is now 
in the best humor to be married ! Faith, I knew it 
was my last chance at her and I laid it on well. 
(Church bell heard off) There be's the bell. 
'Tis time to go! (Goes to door) Captain! I'll 
get Abagail. (Goes to left door and calls) Art 
ready, Bobby? 

Bobby. (Coming in. He looks alternately 
pleased and scared) Ay. 



64 The Little Dog Laughed 

Mother G. Hast thy good book? 
Bobby. Nay; I did forget it. (Exit) 
(Mother Goose goes to stair door) 

Mother G. Mary! (Cross left) Now 111 
get baby, and maybe I'd best gi'e Bob's hair a part- 
ing slick. (Exit left door) 

Miss M. (Weeping) It makes me feel so 
badly. 

Goody H. Cheer up; there's hope for any 
woman ! 

Miss M. No, no; there can't be. 
Jean. Fiddle! Just single a man out, and 
never 'ee lose sight o'm until you have 'im safe. 
Don't I know! (Enter Jack Sprat) Here, Jack, 
take this one too. (Hands baby) 

Jack. They'll think it's a christening if I 
carry 'em. And mother's got one, too. She al- 
ways has one around, it seems. 

Jean. Well, give it here, and do be quiet. 
And keep your eye on the twins — make 'em hold 
hands, and keep a sharp lookout on Georgie- 
Peorgie. ( To Goody Horner) That child kissed 
two little girls yesterday. 

Goody H. Did you whip him? 
Jean. No; but their mothers did. 
(The men stream in, awkwardly. They get in the 
way. Mother Goose enters with Abagail. 
She pushes Bobby ahead of her. He stands 
about in a set position, awaiting his doom. 
Murmurs from the women — "Here's the 
groom!" "Is he not a pretty boy?" "Such 
lovely yellow hair!" (Bobby is much con- 
fused. ) 
Mother G. Where is Mary? 



The Little Dog Laughed 65 

Mary. (Pretty as paint appears at the stair 
door, where she has been waiting for a dramatic 
moment) Here I am, mother! 

Mother G. Bless ye, darling. (Stands her by 
Bobby) There, Bob, stand by your bride-to-be, 
and don't forget, both on ye, as soon as ye enter 
the Lord's house to look down until ye leave it. 
Carry your books — so! Captain, don't ye wish w T e 
had a picture o'm? I wonder if in days to come 
some clever folk will not make a machine will 
just paint a portrait off-hand. Snap, and it's done! 

Captain G. Silence thy tongue, woman. That 
sounds like witchcraft! 

Mother G. 'Tis common sense, in faith! 
There, Mother Hubbard, thee lead, for thou go'st 
slow and wilt set no giddy pace. Then Goody 
Horner and her brat and Miss Muffet; and then 
my Jack and his Jean and their brats. Peter Piper 
and Neighbor Tucker next, then my children and 
— there — Hepsibah, take Boy Blue's hand. 

Benjamin. (Boy Blue) I don't want to 
walk with a girl: they'll think I'm going to be 
married, and I don't want to be married! 

Mother G. (Simply points to the birch, and 
Boy Blue is happy once more) Mary thou and 
thy man — and then, Eleazer, thou and I. So, and 
off we go — two in a row! (Exeunt omnes. Pres- 
ently the bell ceases ringing) 

(The secret door opens and the Little Dog comes 
into the room. He is followed in order by the 
Dish, the Cow and the Cat, who go to their 
places slowly) 

Little D. (Running to the door and calling} 
Mother Goose! 



66 The Little Dog Laughed 

Mother G. {Returning to the door) My 
goodness, what dost thou want? Did I not tell 
thee to keep out of sight until I should call thee? 

Little D. Are we not to go to the wedding? 

Mother G. Thou dost not understand, Little 
Dog. This wedding is in real life, and thou art 
not in real life — only in the rhymes. Thou must 
stay in the rhymes until after Contrary Mary is 
married to Bobby Shafto: then we will all return 
from real life and thou canst laugh as before. Be- 
sides, this was supposed to be the end of the first 
part when we went out, and now thou hast pre- 
vented the drawing of the curtain, and a lot of 
other things. 

Little D. But what may we do while we are 
waiting for the next part to begin? 

Mother G. Well, as long as thou hast come 
in thou may'st make thyself of some use. When I 
have gone you may draw these curtains very softly, 
and then thou mayst take the orchestra out in 
front of the curtain and play to the audience. 

Little D. Those people out there in the dark? 

Mother G. Yes. 

Little D. Are — are they in the rhymes too? 

Mother G. No; but they are in the secret. 

Little D. What secret? 

Mother G. After I go, ask them. I am sure 
there is some child, or some dear old lady out there 
will tell you. After that, if you have any time to 
spare you might fix the properties for the next part. 

Captain G. {Coming to the door) Ann, art 
thou coming? 

Mother G. In one moment, goodman. 

Captain G. {Who of course cannot see Little 



The Little Dog Laughed 67 

Dog) What for art thou standing there in the 
middle of the room, talking to thyself as if thou 
wert bewitched? 

Mother G. It's a way I have, husband! I 
got into it when you went off on your first long 
voyage. {Little Dog is inclined to titter; she puts 
her finger on her lips) 

Little D. {In a whisper) Can he not see us, 
Mother Goose? {She shakes her head) 

Captain G. Why waggest thy head, dame? 
A curse on't! {He comes toward her, looking at 
her half-curiously) I'm half-afeard thou'rt fairy- 
struck! I suppose thou knowest the danger o't? 
If I reported this to the church or the constable, 
Ann, 'tis like they'd treat thee to the stocks or the 
ducking-stool — or worse ! 

Mother G. {With a peal of laughter) Fid- 
dlesticks! Come, husband, thy arm! {As they go 
out she looks warningly over her shoulder at Little 
Dog and the rest of the orchestra) Remember, 
the curtain! 

Captain G. {Recoils from her) Ann! 

Mother G. Nonsense, I was bethinking me o' 
my rhymes. {She goes out with Captain Goose. 
The bell j which has stopped ringing , begins again) 

Cat. {Who has stood by the curtain line at 
the left) Little Dog, canst thou close this cur- 
tain? I am afraid my claws would catch in it. 

Little D. I can do a little dog's best, Cat. 
And I can bark for help if aught goes wrong. 

Cat. I'll go over on this side, and give thee 
what help I may. {Cross right) Cow and Dish, 
attend to your business. Light your moon, Cow. 
Tune your viol, Dish. {The Cat and Little Dog 



68 The Little Dog Laughed 

draw the curtains. NOTE: THE CURTAINS 
USED SHOULD BE "DRAW" CURTAINS) 

(Before the curtains are more than half drawn, 
how ever j the Little Dog remembers something) 

Little D. Hold ! There is no light out there 
for them to see us by. Ho, there, Unseen Man, 
wilt thou make it light for us out there, after the 
curtain is drawn, I mean! 

Unseen Man. All right! (The curtains are 
drawn and the Cat and Little Dog come out front. 
Cat goes to his place, but Little Dog remains cen- 
ter, in front of curtain. He pokes his head in 
between the curtains) 

Little D. Now, please! (Footlights go up 
for orchestra. They have, throughout the play, 
funny little candle lanterns to play by) I thank 
you. (He addresses the audience) Ahem! Ahem! 
I am a Little Dog in a rhyme, and I would like to 
know, if you please, that secret that Mother Goose 
did say you knew. You see, she did say you were 
not in the rhymes, but in the secret. 

A Little Girl in the Audience. I know! 

An Old Lady in the Audience. And I 
know. 

Little D. Please tell me the secret: I am only 
a Little Dog, but I should very much like to know. 

Old Lady. (Rises) Then listen, Little Dog, 
and all others here, both old and young, who have 
the child-heart. Mother Goose is the common 
nurse of us all ; she has made the cradle-music that 
shall always live in our hearts. That is why we 
older children are here to-night (to-day) — so that 
we may enter into the fairyland delights of our 



The Little Dog Laughed 69 

childhood once more. That is the secret, little dog. 
(She sits) 

Little D. I — I thank thee. (He bows and 
goes to his chair) (The Cat draws his bow across 
his fiddle-strings, the rest of the orchestra chimes 
in, and a medley of Mother Goose melodies is 
played. The Little Dog gets much excited, and 
standing up begins to frisk and dance across the 
front of the stage. The CURTAIN OPENS 
and the Little Dog shouts to some children who are 
sitting in the front row of the parquet to join 
him. They scramble up on the stage and join him 
in a dance, which continues until the bell is heard 
to ring again ) The bell ! The bell ! They are mar- 
ried and will be coming back to play the next part! 
Here, children, help me to get the properties fixed. 
(They run about — the Property Man standing off 
left and giving them such things as are needed. 
If necessary he may come on the stage in sight of 
the audience and help the children and Little Dog.) 
There! (The Little Dog may give spoken direc- 
tions about the properties) Now. Unseen Man, 
the lights! (Little Dog calls for colors as re- 
quired) 

Electrician. (The Unseen Man) (Comes 
out on stage, down right) There, how's that? 

Little D. Get back! Get back! They'll see 
thee, and thou'rt not in either rhymes or real life! 
(Pushes him off) Now give us the firelight, 
please. (A little light is turned on) That is not 
enough, please; they've just been married and the 
scene must be cheerful. 

Unseen Man. That's all I can give you. 



70 The Little Dog Laughed 

You'll have to blow on it if you want it to burn 
brighter. (He is unseen during this) 

hi* 7!#i?" { T° the Mdren ^ Come > ^t us 
}7\- {Al ™ hft t0 fi r eP^- The Little Dog 
Puts his hands on knees and all blow together) 
Now, altogether! (They blow. Lights go up 
a bit more) Again! Together! Blow! (Thev 
blow. Lights go up) There, that is a goodly 
flame. And now-sst! They come. Run to thy 
seats; quick! (The children run to their seats— 
or exit through orchestra—they will not be needed 
in front again) (The Little Dog goes over to his 
chair but peeps around the corner and speaks to 
the electrician) Wilt thou please draw the cur- 
tain, kind sir, so that we may begin proDerlv 
(The ELECTRICIAN stalks alross tie stlgefrom 
right to left, shaking his head) Now, Puss a 
tune, and off we go! 
(The curtain is drawn from behind, the Little Dog 

waves a paw to the audience, settles back in 

his chair, laughing) Ha, ha! 
(Orchestra starts the curtain music for Part Three 

"Bobby Shafto") 

CURTAIN 



PART THREE 

The time is early evening of the same day, chang- 
ing to dark. 

The parted curtains discover Mary and Bobby sit- 
ting facing the audience on two chairs side by 
side, on show as it were. They are self- 
conscious, and show that they are getting more 
and more tired and sleepy every moment. 
Miss Muffet is down left by the fireplace on 
her "tuffet" ; she gazes, fascinated, at the 
newly married. Mother Hubbard and Goody 
Horner are right center,, Jean Sprat and 
Mother Goose are on right end of form. Boy 
Blue is asleep beside his mother, to her right, 
and Hepsibah to her left, between her and 
Jean Sprat. Jack and Jill, Jacky Horner, and 
Georgie are all asleep or nearly so and dis- 
posed of advantageously. The other Goose 
children sit around table, working on samplers 
and dropping many stitches, yawning and 
dropping off to sleep. The cradle has three 
babies in it; it is near Mother Goose. 

The men can be seen in a knot outside the open 
door. They are talking. 

As the curtains part Mother Goose, rocking the 
cradle, sings the last line of f 'Bobby Shafto. JJ 

Mother G. Pretty Bobby Shafto! There, the 
last of 'em is asleep, and the older ones are yawn- 
7i 



72 The Little Dog Laughed 

ing their blessed heads off. Silence! Marjory! 
Prudence! Wake up! 

Goody H. We've had a beautiful day — and 
such a fine dinner as you gave us, Mother Goose! 

Mother G. And I've a snack for ye before ye 
go home — after we get these children off to bed. 

Marjory. We don't want to go to bed, 
Mother! 

Mother G. Talk not so to me or ye'll go to 
your bed with a flea in the ear. (Rises and gets 
a candle from mantel. Lights it with a "spill") 
See, children, here's Nanny Netticoat! 

Sings: 

Little Nanny Netticoat, with a white petticoat ! 
The longer she stands — the shorter she grows; 
Simple Nanny Netticoat! 

There, Silence, take Nanny in one hand and Boy 
Blue in t'other, and off to bed wi' th' pack on ye. 
Silence. (Taking the candle and giving her 
hand to Boy Blue) Come on, Marjory! (Mar- 
jory takes Boy Blue's other hand and holds out 
her left hand) 

Marjory. Prudence! (Repeat business) 
Prudence. Faith! (Same business) 
Faith. Hepsiba-peep ! (As they are about to 
string out the door and upstairs Mother Goose 
stops them) 

Mother G. Children, where are your man- 
ners? (They curtsey) Better. (The children 
exit) 

(The men file in and stand in a knot just inside 
the door) 



The Little Dog Laughed 73 

Mother G. And now we'll have some curds 
and whey, and then a nice talk. (She goes out- 
side, and returns with a big bowl, which she places 
on the table. She serves it in the ever useful por- 
ringers, Jean Sprat passing it around. Miss Muf- 
fet is the last served) 

Goody H. Truly, Neighbor Ann, thou art a 
marvel to me. I be a good farm woman myself, 
and can keep roof over my head and the wolf from 
the door, but thou hast as good a way with house 
and bairns as one might hope for in the world to 
come — nay. I speak not irreverently, but the truth. 
Tell me thy secret. 

Mother G. My secret is to keep young, neigh- 
bor, especially in the heart. Life's cares lie light 
o' my heart. 

Jean S. I believe mother hath a charm to keep 
off evil — from herself. 

Captain G. Talk not unwisely, step-daughter. 

Jean S. 'Tis not unwise, sir. My man and 
I were ever quarreling when we were first wed ; 
Jack could afford to eat no fat, and I no lean meat. 
So we had to have two kinds of victual on table 
at once, and this displeased Jack, who hath a mean 
streak. Thou hast. Jack, and thou gettest it not 
from me, either. Well, one day I told Mother 
Goose about this and she took down a ham from 
the hook, cut off the fat and put it on one plate, 
and the lean on 'tother. And since then we ha' 
lived almost in content. Eh, husband? 

Jack S. A 'most, wife. 

Jean S. So don't tell me thy mother hath no 
charm, for she hath an unusual wit in regard to 
everything she doth touch. Look at you, Captain! 



74 The Little Dog Laughed 

Do you not always bring home a bag of gold from 
thy voyages, and the other shipowners with their 
mouldy cargoes! 

Miss M. Hast thou a black cat o' witchery hid 
about somewhere, Mother Goose? {Just then the 
Cat draws his bow across the strings, making a 
sort of r( meaow r sound) What is that? 

Mother G. Perhaps 'tis the black cat of thy 
imagination saying "meaow." 

Mother H. 'Tis the wind in the chimney, 
belike. 

Captain G. Nonsense, mother; there be not 
wind enough to-night to fill a dory-sail. 

Mary. {To Bobby) I know. 

Miss M. {Overhearing) What dost thou 
know? 

Mary. {Her eye on her mother) Nay, I do 
not — do not — think I had better tell. 

Mother G. Tell what thou thinkest, daughter, 
if thou thinkest these good neighbors will under- 
stand what thou dost tell. Surely I have nothing 
hereabout that any body hereabout can see of which 
I be ashamed. 

Mother H. Best let well enough alone! 

Jean S. Nay, Mary, tell what thou knowest. 
Come now, hath thy mother a black cat hereabout? 

Mary. {Seeing a nod of confirmation from her 
mother) Yes, she hath a black cat. 

Captain G. Why, daughter, thy head is 
turned with marrying. There is no black cat here 
in this house! I have never seen one! 

Mother G. Husband, thou'rt so much away 
on thy ship that thou little knowest what I may 
have or no. 

Jean S. Come, mother, show us thy black cat? 



The Little Dog Laughed 75 

Jack S. Jean, be still, let my mother alone. 

Mother G. Nay, friends, I will show you my 
black cat — or rather I will call it here to me — but 
I tell you when it is right here among ye, ye'll not 
see it no more than a blind man might. 

Goody H. Did'st hear that now for a boast! 

Bobby. (Rises) Ahem! (Pulls down his 
vest) Wife, we have eaten and been entertained, 
and I think we must betake ourselves to our new 
home. We thank ye, neighbors, for the goodness 
of company and we are grateful to ye, dear Mother 
Goose, for your goodness. So, wife, with a good- 
night curtsey to thy mother and her guests, we go. 
(He leads her up to door, where they make their 
formal adieux) 

Peter P. 'Twas well said. 

Tucker. Ahem. 'Twas well said. 

Mary. Godden to ye all. And mother, good- 
bye. (She runs over to her mother and kisses her) 

Mother G. Good-bye, my child, and the Lord 
bless ye! 

Bobby. Come, wife. (They go out) 

Mother G. (At the door, as the others re- 
mark within on the great dignity of the young 
groom and the beauty of Mary) Good-night! 
Good-night to ye, my lad and lass! 

Jean S. (Has cornered her man) What 
means thy mother — that she hath a black cat that 
none of us might see? Tell me that! 

Jack S. Belike she talketh of her rhymes. 
Thou know'st my mother hath odd and humorous 
ways with her. (A child is heard above, crying. 
Mother Goose comes back in and goes to stair 
door) 

Mother G. Friends, I must go to see my 



76 The Little Dog Laughed 

child. And Captain, go out to the sheep-fold and 
see if Bo-peep did fasten the door. You will ex- 
cuse me, friends. (She and the Captain go out 
severally ) 

Mother H. (Evidently in answer to some re- 
mark of Goody Horner s) Ah, there be strange 
things in this life. I be an old woman, and I 
know. But the strange happening i' this town were 
best left alone. The constable — savin' your par- 
don, Neighbor Tucker — and the minister, atween 
them, ha' burned more than one honest and inno- 
cent body for a witch. That's why I keep a dog 
for a pet instead o' a cat. 
(The Cat again draws his bow across the strings) 

Miss M. What was that? 

Goody H. It made the cold shivers run down 
my spine! 

Tucker. As the new constable o' this town I 
advise all you good folk to cease talking carelessly 
of our good friend and neighbor Goose, for were 
anything found out to her disadvantage I would be 
bound in honor by my high office to report her to 
the council — yea, though she were the wife of — of 
— my bosom. (He looks at Miss Muffet and h 
much confused) 

Miss M. I shall give my cat away to-morrow. 
Anyhow, she is yellow. 

Jean S. (Suddenly, picking her twins out of 
the cradle and bundling them up) Husband, the 
children are dead with sleep. Take 'em home wi' 
'ee, and take these 'uns too. Gie 'em some pap if 
they yap. There! (She gives him the babes) 
I'll follow with Mother Hubbard in a few minutes. 

Jack S. (Who is sleepy) Well, say good- 
night to mother for me, then. Good-night, neigh- 



The Little Dog Laughed 77 

bors. {And with the twins over one shoulder, 
Georgie by the hand and Jack and Jill urged on 
by the knee ahead of him he goes to his happy 
home) 

Jean S. {As soon as he is out of the door) 
For my part I care not if she is my husband's 
mother. She hath put many a slight on me, and 
hath spoken scurrilously in her rhymes of me and 
my children — ay, and of all on yei 

Miss M. 'Tis true that scarce a man, woman 
or child, to say nothing o' brute-beasts a-plenty, in 
this town, hath scaped irony at the expense o' her 
rhyming tongue! {The women gather in a bunch. 
It has gradually grown darker. One pokes the 
fire up a bit. The two men join the group) 

Peter P. Goody Horner, what have 'ee got to 
say about 'un? 

Goody H. 'Tis as Neighbor Muffet hath said; 
she rhymeth about us all. I know when I lost my 
new shoon o' the mud last Spring she did mock me 
in a jingle and since then I have been called by 
many bv the scandalous title o' Goody TWO 
SHOES!!! 

Mother H. Tush, none on ye know what ye 
talk o'. I vum an' we were to go away now, and 
come back quietly and peep in we would just see 
her rocking her baby to sleep by the fire, and that 
is all. 

Tucker. I hope it may be as thou say'st, 
Mother. This howsoever that she hath said before 
us all concerning the black cat is most serious. 

Jean S. Mother Hubbard, I like thy idea. 
Let us try it. We will say good-night and go, and 
then steal back and spy on her — I mean, satisfy 
ourselves what she doth when alone. Sst! she 



78 The Little Dog Laughed 

comes. {Enter Mother Goose from upstairs) 
Mother, the children were so tired that I did send 
them home with Jack. And as I know they will 
be wanting something, if only a whipping, I had 
best follow. Mother Hubbard, thou lives my way. 
Good-night, mother; it has been a beautiful wed- 
ding-party. {All rise) Art coming, Miss Muf- 
fet? 

Miss M. I have one more mouthful of my 
curds. {At that moment a huge spider drops on 
its thread beside Miss Muffet and frightens her 
from her tuffet. Mother Goose can scarce re- 
strain a smile, but she rushes to the rescue and 
throws the spider in the fire. Miss Muffet 
screams and runs to right, protected by Tucker, 
who has gone over) 

Jean S. Don't 'ee do that, mother! 'Tis un- 
hallowed bad luck to kill a spider! It invoketh 
witches ! 

Mother G. Tut, / fear neither witches nor 
ill-luck. 

Goody H. {As all exchange glances at Mother 
Goose's remark) Wake up, Jacky! 

Jacky H. I want some pie! 

Goody H. Pie! I'll gie'ee pie! {She smacks 
him) 'Tis pie, pie he wants, the fat little pig. 
But he is cute wi't! Last Christmas he put his 
thumb in his piece o' pie and pulled out a big 
plum on't and said, said he, "Am not I a good boy, 
mother?" He did, did he. 

Peter P. ( To Captain Goose, who is just com- 
ing in) Well, good-night, Cap'n. 

Captain G. Thou bean't goin', neighbors? 
'Twas a bottle I was about to open for you. 



The Little Dog Laughed 79 

Tucker. To-night we must refuse you, neigh- 
bor. 

Captain G. {Already at the cupboard) Nay, 
here is the bottle. Take a look at that, and then 
refuse. {Hands bottle to Tucker) 

Tucker. 'Tis good Jamaica rum! Where did 
'ee get this, Captain? 

Captain G. In the Indies, to be sure. Last 
trip. Aught wrong wi' it? 

Tucker. {Handing bottle back) I do not re- 
member any duties yet paid by 'ee, Captain, on 
bottles o' this 

Captain G. Tut, man, between friends who 
ha' cracked many a tale together over bottles I ha' 
paid for — an odd bottle or so 

Tucker. {Severely) Let it not happen again, 
sir, whiles / collect the duties. {Captain Goose 
stares at him) Art coming, Miss Muflet? {She 
sweeps a curtsey at the room in general and exits 
on Tucker s arm) 

Captain G. Well, I'll be blowed! 

Peter P. (Ill at ease) A — a fine wedding, 
sir. {Offers his arm to Goody Horner. She curt- 
seys. Peter says over his shoulder as they go out) 
Wish I could stay for that bottle! {Exit) 

Jean S. Good-night to ye, father. 

Captain G. {Shortly) Good-night. 

Mother H. (At the door as Jean is drawing 
her out) God rest ye, Captain. (Whispers, re- 
turning) You'll find me faithful. (Exit with 
Jean) 

Captain G. Are all on'm crazed, or what? 
Or am I head-turned? 

Mother G. (Dragging the cradle to the fire) 



80 The Little Dog Laughed 

Faith, goodman, this human nature of ours is at 
times a hard thing to compass. Gi'e me children, 
say I ! A body can count on children. 

Captain G. And gi'e me a good stout ship 
and a lot o' sea-room, and a piraty crew and m' 
belt stuffed wi' pistols and dirks. The shore 
stifles me. {Grumbles) A black plague on their 
miserly taxes! 

Mother G. Go to bed, Eleazer. This has 
been a trying day for 'ee, to be sure — thy lass 
married, and thy unaccustomed wedding-clothes to 
make 'ee itch, and all. I'll come in a jiffy, as soon 
as I cover the fire and put this babe off a bit 
sounder wi' a song. 

Captain G. Thy songs mean a lot to 'ee, lass; 
don't they? (By her) 

Mother G. Ay, do they that! If I couldn't 
a-cradled my bairns wi' songs o' my own brew my 
heart would ha' burst, I think. 

Captain G. (At door) Good-night, wife. 

Mother G. (Already busy with her baby) 
Good-night, goodman. (He pauses by the door, 
playing with the latch) 

Captain G. The lass Mary made a pretty 
bride, didn't she, Ann? 

Mother G. (Looking off, dreamily) Ay. 

Captain G. Well, good-night. (Exit Cap- 
tain Goose) 

(Mother Goose rises and blows out the candles, 
which she lighted when she lighted the one for 
the children. The moonlight is seen without, 
and Mother Goose opens the windows and lets 
it flood the room. She takes up the baby and 
cuddles it) (Then she waves a hand to the 
Cat and sings with the orchestra) 



The Little Dog Laughed 8 1 

Mother G. By-e, Baby Bunting; daddy's gone 
a-hunting 
For to get a rabbit-skin, to wrap a 
Baby Bunting in! 

Little D. Bunting in! 

Mother G. I know not what it can be, but I 
feel my heart heavy to-night. (She sings with or- 
chestra) 

Rock-a-bye, baby, on the tree top, 

When the wind blows the cradle will rock; 

When the bough bends the cradle will fall; 

And down will come baby — and cradle and all! 
Sure, it cannot be because Mary hath gone from 
me, for she hath a wholesome lad to a husband, 
and one must take one's luck in life anyway. No, 
'tis not on account o' the lass. But what can it 
be? I seem to feel trouble in the very air! 
(The stair door softly opens and Silence comes in, 
in her bare feet and night gown) 

Silence. Mother! Didst thou call? I seemed 
to hear thee call, mother. 

Mother G. My darling, what means this? 

Silence. May I stay with thee, mother? 
(Sitting by her, on floor) 

Mother G. Ay, my lamb, stay; and mother 
will sing to thee as she did when thou wert a wee 
bairn. 

Silence. That will be so good, mother. 
(Snuggles closer) 

( The door opens again and Marjory and Prudence 
come in) 

Marjory. Mother, we heard voices and we 
came down. May we stay, mother? 

Prudence. Sing us just one song, mother. 
We had no song to-night. 



82 The Little Dog Laughed 

Mother G. You great girls, must I treat you 
like babes! {The door again opens and Faith, 
Hepsibah and Boy Blue come down) 
Faith. ^ Where is sister Silence ? 
Hepsibah. Where are Prudence and Marjory? 
Boy Blue. ) Where's my mammy? 
Silence. I'll tell you what, mother dear, sing 
us all that happened to-day. Make it up! 
The Others. Yes, yes! Do that, mother! 
Mother G. Listen then : First your old mother 
got up very, very early with Big Sister Mary, and 
they sang together: 

When he comes back he'll marry me ! 
Pretty Bobby Shafto! 
And then she sent Bo-peep, here, out to let the 
sheep out of the fold, and what do you think, Bo- 
peep had forgotten, last night, and left the door 
open and 

Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep 
And didn't know where to find them. 
All. Let them alone, and they will come 
home — 
Wagging their tails behind them. 
Hepsibah. And they did, mother. Even the 
very little ones with short tails. 

Mother G. Ay, but didn't I have to get Boy 
Blue to blow his horn for 'm? I sang: 

Little Boy-Blue, come blow your horn; 
The sheep's in the meadow; the cow's in the 
corn ! — 
Mother G. (Boy Blue has fallen asleep again) 
But where's the boy that looks after the 
sheep ? 
All. Under the hay-cock, fast asleep! 



The Little Dog Laughed 83 

Marjory. Do not forget that little Jack Sprat 
pulled the kittens out of the well when his father 
tried to drown them. 

Mother H. Ding-dong-bell, pussy's in the 
well ; 
Who put her in? 
All. Little Johnny Thin! 

Mother G. Who pulled her out? 
All. Little Johny Stout! 

Ding-dong-bell. 
{During this last song are seen outside, peering in, 
Constable Tommy Tucker, Jean Sprat, Peter 
Piper and Goody Horner, Miss Muffet, and 
Mother Hubbard) 
Mother G. And then while we were eating 
dinner our farmer-neighbor Goody Horner saw 
three mice, and they were blind, and she grabbed a 
carving knife and made at them, and she cut off 
their tails, not being quick enough to get them 
by the heads. 

Cat. (Starting to play) And I, being quick 
enough, got the mice. 

Mother H. (Sings with orchestra) 

Three blind mice! See how they run! 
They all ran after the farmer's wife ! 
She cut off their tails with a carving knife! 
Did you ever see such a sight in your life, 
As — three- — blind — mice ! 
Goody H. She makes fun of me! Dost hear 
that, neighbors? And canst see? My sight is 
poor, but it seemeth to me she sits in a fairy ring! 
Jean S. Hush, or she'll hear ye, Goody! 
Goody H. Hear? I vow she's entranced. 
(Music) Hark! there's music from a fiddle! 



84 The Little Dog Laughed 

Miss M. 'Tis forbid by our meeting, and is a 
heresy in itself! 

Mother G. (Sings with orchestra) 
Little Jack Horner, sat in a corner, 
Eating his Christmas pie. 
He put in his thumb and pulled forth a plum, 
And said, "What a good boy am I." 
Jean S. Hear now another gird at ye, Goody 
Horner! She maketh out thy son to be a glutton! 
Mother G. (With accompaniment) 
Jack Sprat could eat no fat, 
His wife could eat no lean; 
So they made a compact 'twixt the two, 
And licked the platter clean ! 
Goody H. Take comfort to thyself , Jean Sprat ! 
How are you hit! 

Mother G. (Sings, accompanied) 
Sing-a-song o' sixpence, 
A pocket full of rye ! 
Four and twenty blackbirds 
Baked in a pie! 
Tucker. Blackbirds! We'll have a 
Black Cat next! 

Mother G. Baa, baa, black sheep, have you 

any wool? 
All. Yes, sir; yes, sir — three bags full. 
Tucker. A Black Sheep, i' faith! 
Mother H. Tush, all on ye ! She is but sing- 
ing her brats to sleep. Let me get close — my eyes 
are but dim, but I vow that's all it is. 

Jean S. Stop elbowing me, Mother Hubbard. 
And brats, say'st thou? She put her brats to bed 
while we were there! 
Mother G. (Sings) 



The Little Dog Laughed 85 

I had a little husband, no bigger 

than my thumb! 
I put him in a pint-pot, and there 
I bade him drum. 
Peter P. That is sure a reflection on her own 
son, thy husband, Jean Sprat. 
Jean. I'll be even wi' her! 
Silence. (Softly) Mother, may I put a bit 
of driftwood — the kind that burns green, in the 
fire — father brought some more home yesterday 
when he came. 

Goody H. I heard another voice 

Jean S. (Her teeth chattering) 'Twas one o' 
the sprites, no doubt! See, see! She's going to 
work some magic! (Silence has procured the drift- 
wood and gives it to Ann, who puts it on the fire) 
She puts a potion on the fire! Ah! (The fire 
burns blue and green) 

Tucker. This is rank sorcery! She shall be 
arrested for a witch! 

Mother H. Nonsense, good neighbor. My 
own fire at times doth burn divers colors. 

Tucker. Then thou'rt in league with her. 
K<eep thy tongue still, old mother, or thou'lt be 
in trouble along o' this beldame. 

Mother G. (Imitating a mans voice) Where 
are you going, my pretty maid? 

(Light voice) I'm going a-milking, sir, she 

said. 
(Same bus) What is your fortune, my 

pretty maid? 
(Same bus) My face is my fortune, sir; she 
said. 
Jean S. Dost hear how she throws her voice? 



86 The Little Dog Laughed 

Tucker. Ay, with the aid of Beelzebub, I 
doubt not! 

Goody H. God grant no ill-luck will reach us 
out here! 

Mother G. Little Miss Muffet, she sat on a 
turret, eating her curds and 
whey; 
Along came a spider and sat down 
beside her, 

And frightened Miss Muflet 
away ! 
Miss M. 'Tis false! I ran away before he 
was within a foot of me! The hussy! How dares 
she! 

Mother G. Peter Piper, punkin eater, had a 
wife and couldn't keep 

her 

Peter P. (Dancing with fury) 'Tis untrue! 
I ha' never espoused any woman, as every one in 
the colony doth know! 

Mother G. Little Tom Tucker cried for his 

supper ; 

What shall he eat but white bread 

and butter ? 

All. How shall he spread it without any knife? 

Mother G. How shall he marry without any 

wife? 
Tucker. That settles it! (Starts as to go in) 
Jean S. One moment! One moment! (As 
Mother Goose rises and with the children forms a 
ring) 

Mother G. And now a dance, my fairies! 
Jean S. Fairies! She acknowledges it in our 
presence ! 



The Little Dog Laughed 87 

Mother G. (To orchestra) Art ready, spir- 
its? 

Peter P. She calleth on the Evil One! 

Tucker. I will arrest her now! 

Jean S. Wait until they dance; then we can 
take her in her sin. 

Mother G. Come, then, honest Black Puss, 
with thy music! 

Tucker. She calleth on her cat — her witch 
cat, without which no one of the Black Art can 
exist. 
(The Cat and orchestra step into the room) 

Jean S. I can see it! A great grey grey- 
malkin ! 

Tucker. I can see — something or other! 

Jean S. I can smell brimstone! 

Miss M. I see the white fairy-folk, but no 
cat as yet. (MUSIC. Hey-diddle-diddle. Mother 
Goose and children dance) (The Little Dog capers 
about — pas seul) Oh, I see a great shadowy thing, 
leaping! 

Jean S. 'Tis the cat! Oh, the brimstone 
chokes me! It puts a fit on me! (She screams) 
(The dance stops. It happens that at this moment 
the children can run up into the stairway) 

Mother G. Surely I heard a scream! Some 
one must be in trouble. (She goes to the right 
window. The others recede from view) 

Tucker. (Without) Open the door! 

Mother G. (Motioning the children to go up) 
Who is there? 

Tucker. (Without) The Constable. Open 
in the name of the Law! (The Little Dog opens 
the secret panel and motions to the orchestra to go 



88 The Little Dog Laughed 

back to their places in front. They do so. He 
withdraws behind the secret panel) 
{Mother Goose opens the door. Enter the group 
of neighbors. ^Mother Hubbard crosses at the 
back so that she is near .Mother Goose, whe 
is about center. Tucker and Miss Muffet 
are nearest her, Jean Sprat at their left, and 
a bit up stage from them. Peter Piper and 
Goody Horner are dawn right, and seemingly 
behind Tucker and Miss ^Muffet) 
Mother G. Well, neighbors, this is a right 
merry jest ye put upon me. But have seats and 
welcome, while I blow up the fire. 

Tucker. Where be'st thy company? 
Mother G. (Indicating those present) Here, 
neighbor. 

Tucker. Deal not impudently with the Law; 
thou knowest full well what I mean. 

Mother G. Xay, then. I know not. Xor, do 
I know, neighbor, why the manner of my guests of 
to-day is so suddenly changed. 

Jean S. Manner — changed! Beware of her, 
Neighbor Tucker, or she mav put the evil eve on 

ye* 

Mother G. What dost thou mean, daughter 
Jean? 

Jean S. "Mean — daughter Jean" — faugh! 
(Snaps her fingers in Mother Goose's face) Take 

that to thy rhymes ! 

Tucker. (To Jean) Peace, woman. (To 
Mother G.) Now tell me what thou hast done 
with these fain- sprites in white who but a moment 
since danced in an unhallowed ring while witch- 
music played? 



The Little Dog Laughed Bg 

{During all this Ji other Hubbard is looking to 
see tihat is going to happen next — purposely 
taking no part until she is sure she can be of 
help) 

Mother G. Thy talk grows more and yet 
more Neighbor Tucker. But as I believe 

in being courteous to all men I will answer ye 
even as I would be answered myself. The fairies 
in white were my children in their night-smocks; 
the>- are upstairs now, in bed. As for what thou 
callest witch-music that is a secret of mine own 
which it were idle to divulge. It does no man 
harm, and doth much good to some children, 
uld'st like to hear more on't? 

Miss M. Let her not do it — I should die of 
fright ! 

Jean S. It would put a fit upon me! 

Mother H. Nay. neighbors: thou art all 
wrong. Talk not so to our good Mother Goose, 
who has never been other than kind to us all. I 
have heard her music, and 'tis quite harmless 

Tucker. Thou'rt indeed in league with her, 
thou spittle-mouth hag! (To Mother G.) V 
is thy husband? 

Mother G. He is in bed, asleep. (Points to 
room, left) 

Tucker. Here. Peter Piper, guard thou this 
door on the outside, with Goody Horner: Neigh- 
bor Sprat, take you a light and go up to see if the 
children be in bed as she says: Miss Muffet, thou 
and I will go out this way and see whether her 
husband be in the house, and M::her Hubbard. 
stay thou with her here in this room until we re- 
turn. Come. Neighbor Mufiet. and we will see 



90 The Little Dog Laughed 

whether this smuggler of contraband, Eleazer 
Goose 

Mother H. What is that thou sayest? 
Eleazer Goose a smuggler! 

Tucker. I say that Eleazer Goose is a smug- 
gler, suspected this long while by the authorities, 
and now to be apprehended. Come. (All except 
Mother Goose and Mother Hubbard go out as di- 
rected) 

Mother H. Alas, dame, we are undone and 
will surely be tortured by these misguided folk, 
our excitable neighbors. Faith! I think 'tis they 
are bewitched. 

Mother G. Peace, mother; I am not even 
disturbed in my mind. Surely some way will be 
opened for our escape. (Of course it is at this mo- 
ment that Little Dog opens the secret door and 
sticks his head out) 

Little D. Mother Goose! 

Mother G. What did I tell thee, Mother 
Hubbard? Go in there, (Points to the secret pas- 
sage) and I will follow thee, and fear not. I do 
thank thee, Little Dog, and will not forget thy 
faithfulness. (Exeunt Mother Hubbard and 
Mother Goose, taking her baby from the cradle. 
Little Dog shuts the panel after them, then scuttles 
over to right, down stage) 

Little D. Unseen Man! When I blow out 
their candles, do thou put out the light so as to 
confuse them! (Sits on his chair) Now, Cat, 
some witch music. (Ghostly theme from orchestra) 
(Enter, cautiously and half-afraid, the neighbors) 

Tucker. Where is Mother Goose? 

Jean S. And Mother Hubbard? Where is 
she? They did not go upstairs. 



The Little Dog Laughed 91 

Tucker. Nor that way. (Points left) 

Goody H. Nor out the door. 

Jean S. (If ho is right center with the lighted 
candle in her hand) She hath spirited herself 
away. Didst find the Captain ? ( To Tucker, who 
is left of her with a lighted candle in his hand) 

Tucker. He sleeps sound. (Snores off left) 
Thou canst hear'un. And the children are asleep 
above ? 

Jean S. Ay. 

Goody H. Then that proves they were fairies 
we saw here. 

Peter P. That is proof, surely. 

Miss M. Listen! That is music — witch mu- 
sic! (Clutches Tuckers arm) 

Goody H. (Pointing out to the orchestra) 
'Tis out there — through the wall! (Jean and 
Tucker come forward with their candles) 

Jean" S. Look, the wall of the room is reced- 
ing! (The Little Dog steals around back of them) 

Tucker. I see faces! 

Miss M. Hundreds of faces! (Little Dog 
blows candles out) (Darkness j for the fire has 
burned out) 

Jean S. They are running pins in me! (Mu- 
sic becomes fast and furious) 

Tucker. She is a witch ! She is surely a witch ! 

Miss M. Oh. anger her not — she biteth me. 

Goody H. Where is the door? I cannot find 
it! (At fireplace) Oh. I am burned with fire! 
(A green blaze flickers on hearth and dies) Witch 
fire! 

{The children run down, hearing the noise; they 
get mixed up in the general melee) 

Children*. Mother! Mother Goose! 



92 The Little Dog Laughed 

Jean S. The sprites! They claw at me — 
they pull my hair! 

Miss Muffet. They trip me. (Falls) Oh, 
a spider is on me ! 

Tucker. (Finding the door) Here is the 
door! This way! (They run out, men first, the 
women screaming, the men shouting directions. 
The children follow them, confused, then return, 
as soon as the mistake is realized) 

Captain G. (Coming left with a candle) 

What in Beelzebub ? (He sees the scared 

children huddling in a heap up center) (Furni- 
ture is overturned, etc.) What means this? Where 
be'st thy mother? 

Silence. We know not, sir. We heard a 
dreadful noise and did see a strange woman in our 
attic with a candle, and when she did disappear 
we came down, and there were many folk fight- 
ing 

Marjory. And they did swear oaths and talk 
witch-talk 

Captain G. Sure I be the one to swear oaths, 
I think — to be roused from a sound sleep when 
'twas my watch below! Thou'st had too much 
merry-making this day and have ate food too rich 
for thy stomachs — that's what's the matter wi' 'ee. 
Away to bed! Thy mother has belike gone out to 
see some sick neighbor child and will return when 
the humor strikes her. Off wi' 'ee, I say! (Exeunt 
the children, huddling together) 
(The music, which has stopped when the neigh- 
bors went out, begins again with "Dickory, 
dickory-dock." Mouse business is not seen on 
account of darkness. The Captain goes to the 



The Little Dog Laughed 93 

door and looks out, setting his candle on the 
table as he passes) 

Captain G. One o'clock! Door not locked — 
'tis as I have said. (Comes back and takes up 
candle) She is a kind-hearted woman to her neigh- 
bors, but this night I wish she were kind-hearted 
to her family! {Exit left) 

(The music continues pp. The secret panel opens 
and Mother Goose comes out, followed by 
Mother Hubbard) 

Mother G. Nay, I will see thee home first, 
Mother Hubbard. (Blows up fire a bit. 
lights) 

Mother H. But 'tis late and thou'lt have to 
come home by thyself. Nay, I'll not let thee go 
with me; I am but an old body and no man will 
molest me. So good-night, and pray heaven that 
no harm come as an end to this night's pranks and 
ignorance. (She goes. Music stops) 

Mother G. (Calling softly after her) Good- 
night, mother! (Puts baby in cradle) I would 
not have believed this of my neighbors — they are 
sure bewitched by some evil or other. And Jean, 
my son's wife! And all of 'em folk out of my 
own rhymes, too! I dare say — yea — I dare say 
Jean was provoked at me for rhyming about her 
not being of a figure to eat lean if she liked! 

(Sings) Hush-a-bye, baby, in the tree-top 

(Stops) But what meant Neighbor Tucker in call- 
ing my man a smuggler? And that door that Little 
Dog opened for me — I never knew of that door be- 
fore — those be things not in my rhymes, but in real 
life. I must ask Little Dog about that door. No, I 
cannot neither, for the door is in real life and Little 



94 The Little Dog Laughed 

Dog is in the rhymes. But — Little Dog knew of 
the door — Dear me, baby, life is a very mixed-up 
aifair. Bless her heart, she's asleep still, through 
all this noise and fuss. But then she's only a prop- 
erty baby — but she's as real as the fuss, which 
isn't real, but yet is no doubt in real life, for 'tis 
not in the rhymes. It's getting too-mixed for my 
noddle. (Rises) I wonder what my good neigh- 
bors will do next? This witchcraft craze hath 
possessed Salem this long while — they will try a 
mischief — and they may trouble my Mary since 
it was she who told them ! I'll go to her this min- 
ute! (She gets a shawl and bundles up herself and 
the baby. Turns to audience) Good-night, dear 
future, out there in the dark. Fear not, ye'll see 
me again! (She goes out right) 

CURTAIN 



INTERLUDE IN FRONT OF THE 
CURTAIN 

(There is just enough light to descry the features 
of the Little Dog and the orchestra. In fact, 
there should be a little row of footlights for 
Little Dog and one for Orchestra) 

Cow. {Yawns) What do you suppose is hap- 
pening back there now? 

Cat. Go and see, Little Dog. (The Little 
Dog disappears behind) Cow, I never knew thee 
to be curious before. 

Cow. I am not curious, Cat. But, when I 
jump over my moon I jump over it and ha' done, 
and come down to earth again. And I feel the 
like about this story — and I do not like it being 
held up in the air, as it were, and I want to know 
whether they are to burn Mother Goose as a witch 
or no. 

Cat. Thee may be sure, Mistress Cow, that if 
they do burn her we'll all burn along of her. For, 
are we not, so to speak, in her head? 

Cow. All very well for thee to talk so lightly 
of so horrible an end — for thou hast nine lives. 

Dish. Burning alive! Don't talk of such 
things; I remember distinctly when they took me 
from the kiln! It makes my heart go pewter- 
platter to think o't. (Little Dog appears between 
curtains) 

Little D. Sst ! ! ! It is now morning back 

95 



96 The Little Dog Laughed 

there and they are come to arrest Mother Goose 
and her husband and burn her as a witch and hang 
him for a smuggler. Oh, I am so excited it maketh 
my teeth to itch to get at that constable's calves! 
We must rescue them! Cat, sharpen thy claws, 
and forget not to bite horribly. Cow, use thy 
horns, and Dish, thwack mightily with thy spoon! 
(The curtains begin to move) 
Cat. Take thy seat — the curtains are moving! 
Little D. {Taking his seat) Think o' folk 
in one's own rhymes going back on one so! It is 
worse than poetic license! It's — it's {The cur- 
tains open and he has not time to finish) 
(Captain Goose is at the door with a blunderbuss 
in his hand. The door and windows are 
barred. Light streams through the cracks, and 
dimly lights the room, which is further lighted 
from fire and such light as comes from a couple 
of lighted candles) (Mother Goose and the 
children are center and left. There is a knock 
at the door) 
Mother H. (Without) 'Tis I, Mother Hub- 
bard. I am alone. (Mother Goose nods to the 
Captain and he unbars the door, admits Mother 
Hubbard and quickly bars the door again) Oh, 
neighbors, these ignorant and silly folk are surely 
aroused to a frenzy. They are on the way to thy 
daughter's house to apprehend her, and then they 
are coming here to arrest thee. I came to thee at 
once, for I would rather die a horrible death with 
thee than live in shame of what they are about 
to do. 

Captain G. Art sure this is truth, mother? 
(She nods) Then will I shoot as many of'm as I 
can. Curse them for a pack of whining seacooks! 



The Little Dog Laughed 97 

Mother G. One thing I want to know, 
Eleazer. Art thou in very truth a smuggler? 

Captain G. Ay, am I, and proud o't, too. A 
curse on the supporting o' kings wi' unjust taxes on 
the victual a man eats and the clothes he wears. 
And if I had known of the mischief was afoot this 
night past we might ha' been out of this safe and 
sound and out o' the way at sea on my good fast 
ship — that lies here tied to the dock. 

Mother H. That is another thing I came to 
tell ye, Captain. Thy ship hath gone from the 
dock. 

Captain G. Gone from her mooring? 

Mother H. Ay. She was gone at daylight 
or before, for I ha' been up all the night. 

Captain G. Oh, Ann; hast thou brought us 
all to this wi' thy foolish rhymes. And our Mary 
— our first-born! 

Mother G. Nay, Eleazer; grieve not. I do 
assure thee I feel strangely calm (She has hard 
work to control her laughter) and worry not about 
our Mary. I know she is safe so far, and I know 
in my heart we are doomed to no untimely end, 
but am sure we will live to enjoy life — thou in thy 
good ship and I in my rhymes — for many happy 
days. (A stealthy tap comes at the secret door) 
Ah, I thought so! Who is it? (Goes up to se- 
cret panel) 

Captain G. I did not know that thou knew- 
est of that door. 

Mother G. I know a many things, sir hus- 
band! Again I say, who is it? 

Bobby. (Without) Bobby Shafto. Art alone? 

Mother G. Come in! (Enter Bobby, leaving 
panel open) 



98 The Little Dog Laughed 

Bobby. Quick, Captain! Mother Goose came 
to me at two this morning — she told me of the 
trouble and without consulting thee I got the ship 
worked downstream with the aid o' our good sail- 
ors; the mariner was drunk and I took command, 
had the cannon unslung and a boat ready at the 
other end o' this good tunnel-way. Come, all on 
ye. If we can make the ship we can keep the whole 
o' Salem Town at bay until we get under weigh, 
and then there's not a craft this side o' the King's 
navy can outsail us! 

Mary. {Coming from room at left) Come, 
father! (She runs to him) 

Mother G. And Mary and I did stay up the 
rest o' the night baking and brewing — the stuff is 
a'ready conveyed aboard, and we are provisioned 
for centuries! 

Captain G. Come then! We'll play a trick 
on the first one tries to break in the room. (As 
the others go out he adjusts the blunderbuss to a 
chair j fastens a string to it and the other end of the 
string to the latch, aiming the gun at the door) 
(Then he follows Mother Goose out, and closes 
the panel after him) (Mother Goose beckons or- 
chestra to follow her. They go up and out while 
the Captain fixes the blunderbuss) (There is a 
pause, then the sound of voices, growing nearer) 

Tucker. (Without) Open in the name of 
the Law! (There being no response he repeats) 
Open in the name of the Law! (Then the latch 
is rattled and there is a terrific report and flash, 
and screams from without) 

CURTAIN 



PART FOUR 

The scene is the same, except that it is modernized. 
The time is the present. Jim Bradbury, 
known to his intimates as "Bumps'' because 
he is, for no reason connected with this story, 
interested in phrenology, is the present owner 
and occupant of the old Goose house in Salem, 
Massachusetts, U. S. A. Bradbury is an art- 
ist of no usual taste and discrimination, and 
he and his charming wife, Betsy, have pre- 
served the feel of this old place and only 
added a few comfort-touches to relieve the 
work-a-day atmosphere that early colonial days 
necessitated. The furniture, except the cradle 
and the spinning-wheel, is the same, furbished 
up with some good-colored linens, and there 
are added a couple or so of wicker chairs, 
comfortable and easily carried. There is also 
a small table, on which is a candelabrum. 
Another on the large table and candles on the 
mantel. These are lighted, as the time is eve- 
ning — Hallowe'en in fact. The fire is lighted. 
The room is turned into a living room. 

On the large table, among a few other books and 
magazines, is a new copy of an illustrated 
"Mother Goose," words and music. 

A maid in conventional garb enters and holds door 
{left) open for two smartly dressed women 
99 



IOO The Little Dog Laughed 

and a man to enter. They wear very recent 
sport clothes and have evidently removed their 
heavy outer garments in the hall. The first 
one to enter, Miriam Judson, an artist* aged 
about 25, is thin and dark, affects rather 
manny duds and wears shell-rimmed spec- 
tacles. She has a way of lounging about and 
standing in naive attitudes, which makes her, 
although very lithe and shapely, look lopsided. 
She lunges across the room and flushes up a 
Hong Kong armchair into which she tumbles, 
sprawling her feet ahead of her. She is followed 
by a chestnut-colored blonde, Vivian Ken- 
nerly, who may be 35 and an actress of more 
than usual distinctiveness and who has no need 
of inflated advertising or make-up off the stage. 
She is dressed quietly but very smartly. She 
walks in the room, and after a moment's 
pause goes over to the window at the right to 
get the last effect of daylight before it is spoiled 
by the electric lights which have been but just 
turned on outside. Her husband follows her 
into the room, as indeed he would follow her 
anywhere, even although he is not the follow- 
ing type of man. Harold Kennerly is a mans 
man, every inch of him, and he is seventy-two 
inches high and weighs a hundred and eighty. 
But with his wife he is a great boy. He is 
rather dark and wears a small moustache. He 
is an architect of note. He strolls around, 
stops in front of Miriam, between her and the 
fire, standing with his back to it. 
Maid. If you will please make yourselves at 
home, I am quite sure Mrs. Bradbury will be here 



The Little Dog Laughed ioi 

soon. She has been expecting you all day, and just 
went out in the motor car along the Lynn road to 
see if she could find you. She thought you might 
have broken down somewhere. {Exit left) 

Harold. Rather a keen croft, I should say. 
Eh, Viv? (Vivian is interested in her view) 

Vivian. M — Yes. 

Harold. Well, rave about it then. (No an- 
swer. Miriam seems to be sniffing as a dog does 
around meal time) Don't suppose a cigarette 
would be taboo? 

Miriam. Why ask, Hallie? You're in com- 
pany of an actress and a painter, and in the house 
of a writer with a husband who believes himself 
an artist — and you yourself are not a bromide. 

Vivian. Go ahead and fume, Hal. Only don't 
talk about it. 

Harold. (By this time he has discovered that 
he has left his cigarette case in his overcoat pocket. 
Miriam dives her hand in her side pocket and 
supplies the want. He takes the case and opens it) 
Either of you girls have one? (They pay no at- 
tention to him. He closes the case and places it 
where he can reach it again. He lights the cig- 
arette) 

Miriam. See the brine from there, Vivian ? 

Vivian. Yes, and it's quite lovely — fuzzy green- 
ish things with ruffles on them growing at the edge 
— and a street of moonlight runs right into the 
water. (She turns and strolls back, leans over 
Miriam's chair) Wasn't Betsy lucky to get this 
nice old stage-setting, though? 

Miriam. Yes. Just like her and Bumps to 
stumble over it. I've seen the place a hundred 



102 The Little Dog Laughed 

times, I suppose, and it never occurred to me it was 
vacant or for sale. Such a dead old town, any- 
how. 

Harold. Why do you girls always call Brad- 
bury "Bumps"? 

Vivian. Dear husband, arouse from your slum- 
bers. 

Harold. Oh, I see — his fad — phrenology! 

Vivian. Astute creature. Yes, his fad — 
phrenology — "Bumps" — wonderful brain! (She 
has strolled over by the form, sees the copy of 
"Mother Goose" on the table, picks it up and 
holds it so that Miriam can see it. Puts it down 
again ) 

Harold. What are you wig-wagging to Miri- 
am? 

Vivian. (Holds the book up for him to see) 
Book. 

Harold. (Crosses up and picks U P book) 
"Mother Goose Rhymes." 

Miriam. It can read, it can. 

Vivian. It's a new edition, Hal; Betsy's latest. 
She did the music and illustrations and all. 

Harold. Funny old furniture here, isn't it? 
Suppose it came with the house. Wonder what's 
upstairs? (Stairs door opens and Jim Bradbury — 
"Bumps" — appears. He is an exceedingly likeable 
fellow of forty-five. He is not old-school, but 
there is no room among his bumps for the serious 
consideration of cubism or jazz in any form) 

Bumps. Well, of all the impossibly delightful 
things — how are you? (Gives a hand to each of 
the women, and holds them, moreover, as he nods 
to Harold) Didn't know you were here. Heard 



The Little Dog Laughed 103 

voices. Thought it was Betsy and the kids — she 
went off in the car to do an errand, I think. Jolly 
glad to see you. When did you come? {He comes 
around in front of them. Refuses a cigarette 
which Harold proffers him. Harold takes one him- 
self) How did you come? How long can you 
stay? 

Miriam. Two hours ago. Private boat. Un- 
til you put us out. 

Bumps. Jolly! By boat, eh? We thought 
you'd motor down, the roads are so good now. 
Infernally jolly, though. What do you think of 
the hovel? 

Vivian. (Who has sunk on the floor beside 
Miriam) Quite too good for any one but me. 

Here (Takes off her hat and hands it over 

her shoulder to Harold) — catch this, Hal. (He 
puts it on table) 

Bumps. Have you seen Betsy's new book — the 
"Mother Goose"? It's just from the press. (He 
looks around for it) 

Miriam. Yes, I saw it in the city — not Bos- 
ton. It's stunning. Betsy's really a wonder. The 
illustrations are refreshing in this ragtime. 

Bumps. By the way, did you hear from Betsy 
that this house was built by an old bird named 
Goose ? 

Vivian. Be considerate: allay thy fantasy. My 
imagination is good, Bumps dear, but don't stretch 
it until the price of rubber goes down. 

Bumps. Fact though. The deed proves it — 
Eleazer Goose and Ann his wife. (Swelling with 
importance) She — strange to say — is reputed to 
be the real Mother Goose — the original. 



104 The Little Dog Laughed 

Harold. {Interested in facts) Really? 

Miriam. Now don't be skeptical, HaUie! 

Bumps. No, but really, you know There 

is an Ann Goose buried in the Old Granary in the 

city {With a dart at Miriam) BOSTON! 

{He has picked up the volume of verses as if to 
prove his last statement, handing the book to Har- 
old) 

Harold. What difference does it make where 
she was buried? Did Betsy write the verses, too? 

Vivian. Who sang you to sleep when you were 
a baby, Hal? Come — remember. 

Harold. Nobody. I was brought up at a fort, 
out among the wool. I believe my nurse was an 
Indian squaw. 

Vivian. {To Miriam, who has raised an eye- 
brow) Mother died when he was a baby. Father 
army officer. He was probably pappoosed. Wish 
they'd saved the swaddlings — they'd have made 
such a jolly sewing-bag. 

Bumps. Did you bring the kid? 

Vivian. She's out with your herd. They're 
seeing life in form of carrying pumpkin-lanterns 
around on sticks. They're in no danger, I sup- 
pose; the neighbors looked harmless. 

Bumps. None, surely. But I'll go and see if 
you like. {He goes out left) 

Harold. What's this about Mother Goose? 
You don't suppose Bumps believes it, do you? 

Miriam. ( To the spirits who attend on mortal 
thoughts) These artists!! 

Vivian. Like as not, honey. 

Miriam. One may as well believe a thing as 
not. It is bound to turn out the other way. 

Vivian. You disbeliever! 



The Little Dog Laughed 105 

Miriam. I am not. I'm merely a rational- 
reactionary. As such I observe life. And — life is 
a simple compounded of many melancholies. 

Harold. That is Shakesp . . .? 

Vivian. {Who has risen to her toes before 
him) Harold! Dear old angel, you do keep me 
young. Really you are too darling. 

Harold. What break have I made now? 

Vivian. {Sitting once more) Don't ask. I 
want to keep you as you are — a lamb unspotted. 

Harold. Well, I've seen you play Shakespeare 
you know, Viv; and I'm sure I heard you say those 
lines about the melancholy and the simple. It was 
in 

Miriam. Careful! Careful! Bad curve! 

Vivian. You are quite right, Hal. It was 
the simple Jacques and the melancholy Audrey. 
Hal, you are a treasure and if you should ever 
want to give up architecture and go on the stage 
with me I will divorce you for cruel and inhuman 
treatment — of Shakespeare. 

Harold. You are a puzzle to me. 

Miriam. You idiots! Stop your love-making. 
This is not a comedy. And, Harold — go and hunt 
up Bumps and make him to go for Betsy at once. I 
am dying for food. And I swear I smell hot rolls 
and broiled ham. If they don't have broiled ham 
I'll make trouble. Go, mere man. {Harold looks 
for a confirmatory nod from Vivian. He gets it and 
goes) 

Miriam. Now, Vivian, that you are here, tell 
me honestly — if you can — whether you believe in 
haunted houses? 

Vivian. My dear, I believe in everything — 
even in you. But we'll have to be careful not to 



106 The Little Dog Laughed 

let Harold know what we brought us down for. 

Miriam. Evidently Betsy hasn't told Bumps 
why we came. 

Vivian. Betsy is not one of the five foolish 
wives. She is wise to a number of things and she 
has her lamps trimmed and burning. 

Miriam. It must be awfully wearing to be 
married — always remembering what to tell and 
what not to. 

Vivian* It's lovely. It makes a man so inter- 
esting to one — like driving a car. You gauge how 
much gas and how much this and that — you study 
your mixture — test him out — and you 

Miriam. Calculate to a nicety how much mile- 
age he is good for. 

Vivian. Oh, Hal's good with his money. But 
I've a tolerable income of my own. 

Miriam. You spend it all on your gowns, 
though. 

Vivian. Think of the satisfaction of wearing 
them, dear. 

Miriam. Well, I'll confess your marriage is 
rather a choice chance; but you don't have to live 
with your husband much of the time. That makes 
you both like each other. Why, you're away so 
much that when you come home you're like a 
fairy-goddess to your family. 

Vivian. My dear, what has all this to do with 
haunted houses? 

Miriam. Nothing whatever. That's the charm 
of conversation; it is always a delight — you wan- 
der and wander — and get nowhere. If you came to 
a definite conclusion you'd have to do something 
about it. 



The Little Dog Laughed 1 07 

Vivian. Haunted houses! We have definitely 
arrived at one. What are we going to do about it? 

Miriam. Wander about in it, hoping to get a 
shiver — but never allowing ourselves to believe 
that we will. And if we do we'll account for it 
— scientifically. 

Vivian. Agnostic. Pig! 

Miriam. I am not. I believe in the unbe- 
lievable — the great, elastic unbelievable. All kinds 
of bright-colored hopes fenced in with pitch-black 
question marks silhouetted against a pitch-black 
background. It suggests such a lovely contrast. 
And black is so decorative. 

Vivian. Miriam, you are a beast! 

Miriam. I am not. I am a highly-educated 
animal who hopes she has a soul ... a lovely 
pitch-black soul. (She reaches for a cigarette, hut 
is interrupted in her downward course by the ar- 
rival of Betsy Bradbury, an attractive thing of 
thirty odd, dressed in an ingenuous gown of no 
particular style — flowers and flounces. Betsy has 
studied her background well. She wears a soft mo- 
tor coat which she discards as she enters) 

Betsy. Girls, this is quite too good ! 

Vivian. (Kissing her) Of you, dear. (Betsy 
turns to Miriam) 

Miriam. Go on; it won't run. 

Vivian. Betsy, order a meal for her. She has 
been saying dreadful things — far worse than I ever 
have to say in plays. 

Miriam. It isn't what you say in plays, honey, 
— but truly, Betsy, for the love of my immortal 
body give me food. I am famished. The salt air 
has turned me into a pig. 



108 The Little Dog Laughed 

Vivian. I told you you were a pig. ( To Bet- 
sy) Ducky frock. 

Miriam. The next time I see you — on the 
stage, I shall hiss. Betsy, didn't I smell ham broil- 
ing? 

Betsy. Alas for the nighness of the kitchen, 
yes. You shall have some soon. Where are the 
men? 

Vivian. I sent Harold to trail you. 

Betsy. I drove the twelve. Probably he's with 
Bumps and the kiddies — which reminds me, as they 
are not here, I might as well tell you right now 

Miriam. The haunt! 

Betsy. Yes. Positively I feel a fool when I 
come to talk of it, though I can write of it glibly 
enough You know Dinah 

Miriam. Lord! Whatever made you give a 
white child a name like that! 

Betsy. As I've told you a thousand times it's an 
old family name. 

Miriam. Well, it's an outrage. And that's an 
imbecile reason for giving a child such a name. 

Vivian. Miriam, be quiet. The ghost is about 
to walk. 

Betsy. Well, Dinah began to see things — not 
this ordinary invisible playmate business — but really 
to have — well, visions. It was while I was work- 
ing on the "Goose." I was illustrating "Dickory, 
dickory-dock," only I wrote it "Hickory" instead 
of Dickory, when Dinah, who was in the room, 
said I mustn't — that I must say "Dickory." I 
asked her why, but for the longest while I couldn't 
get anything from her. Then, one night she told 



The Little Dog Laughed 109 

Miriam. It's always at night. Go on. 

Betsy. She said she was here by the fire. It 
was Hallowe'en — a year ago to-night, just after 
we came to the house. She had stolen down from 
her bed to try and see a ghost. And all of a sud- 
den 

Vivian. The bell then beating one . . .! 

Miriam. How Harold would enjoy this! En 
passant, merely. Go on. 

Betsy. Just before one o'clock a little mouse 
ran up the clock. It struck one 

Miriam. The mouse? 

Vivian. Miriam, you havfc a crust! 

Miriam. I like to be exact. 

Betsy. . . . and "down the mouse ran." 
(Sings it) 
Chorus of unseen children. 

Dickory, dickory-dock ! 

Vivian. What was that? (The sound comes 
from behind the secret panel) 

Betsy. A coincidence. The children singing 
oudoors, likely. (She says this to try the others) 

Vivian. It sounded far off, like a 

Miriam. Like a stage effect. 

Vivian. No, I mean — far off — sort of shut-up 
— imprisoned 

Betsy. Now, that is a coincidence. Odd that 
you should say that. That is exactly what Dinah 
said. She said that as soon as the mouse ran 
down (Enter Dinah, Jean and Little Jim) 

Miriam. RUN down, if my memory serves. 

Betsy. (Giving Miriam a pinch) ... the 
clock, the song was sung in the wall there, as it 
was just now. And there was queer music. 



no The Little Dog Laughed 

Vivian. All children are imaginative. 

Dinah. (A straight-haired, dark child with 
mysterious eyes) But it was quite so, Aunt Stagey. 
(She taps the panel. It sounds hollow) The sing- 
ing was in there. I came quite close and heard it. 
Really. 

Miriam. (Straightening herself out somewhat 
and stumbling over) By my back hair, that does 
sound hollow. Ha! (With wicked glee) I won- 
der if we have found the secret door in the haunted 
house ! 

Betsy. Why, I never thought before — there 
must be a walled-up place there — between the 
stairway and the hall. (Enter Harold and Bumps) 
How d'o, Hal? So glad. Children, you haven't 
said how to Aunt Mim and Aunt Stagey yet. And 
I've not hugged my precious Jean. (Business) 
Hal, you architect, come here and be of some use. 
Tap this panel. 

Harold. Why shall I tap this panel? 

Vivian. Do as you are told. (He taps the 
panel with a pencil) 

Vivian. Well? 

Harold. It is hollow. 

Miriam. Ha! 

Betsy. Do you think there is a secret door? 

Harold. (Examining the panel) Like as not — 
old houses, you know. (Raises his foot in play) 
Shall I 

Mother G. (On the other side) Push up on 
the upper left-hand corner. 

Harold. What in the 

Bumps. Miriam, this is one of your pranks. 
(Starts for her) You devil 



The Little Dog Laughed III 

Harold. Pretty delicate. {And the men stroll 
over to the fire. THEY are not to be taken in, 
anyhow) 

Dinah. Mother, it must be Mother Goose 
herself. It sounds just like her voice. 

Mother G. Thou art indeed right, my child. 
{Without) 

Betsy. Who — who are you, please? {With 
an amused look at the others) 

Mother G. Ann Goose is my name {All 

look at each other except the men, who wag their 
knowing heads) 

Betsy. Ann Goose? 

Mother G. Ay, Ann Goose o' Salem Town; 
wife of Eleazer Goose, the good sea-captain who 
did build this house. {The panel opens and 
Mother Goose appears) Good e'en to ye all. {She 
steps in) 

Betsy. Good evening. Won't you — come in? 

Mother G. {Advancing into the room) I 
thank ye. {She looks curiously about) 

Bumps. Pret-ty good! 

Harold. Some make-up; eh, Viv? 

Vivian. Upon my word, Hal, I have no hand 
in this. 

Betsy. {As hostess) Won't you be seated, 
please? {Business of her being offered a rocking- 
chair, to which she is unaccustomed) Bumps, this 
is as much of a guesser to me as to you. {Seeing 
Mother Goose's plight with the rocker) Take this 
one. 

Mother G. I thank ye. {Sits stiffly on one 
of her own chairs) 
{In spite of their utter disbelief in the reality of the 



112 The Little Dog Laughed 

thing the others are distinctly* ill at their ease, 
like the victims of a surprise-party. But Dinah 
goes softly over to Mother Goose, and Jean 
Kennedy follows her. But Little Jim stays 
with his father) 

Mother G. (To Betsy) Thou'rt the dame 
who hast made the book of my rhymes, art thou 
not? 

Miriam. She's after the copyright! 

Betsy. (With a quieting gesture to Miriam) 
Yes. Have you seen it, then? 

Mother G. I have seen it already. I have 
stood by when thou wast writing of it, and I thank 
thee for trying to be exact in the wording. 

Betsy. This is really quite delightful — a lovely 
Hallowe'en surprise. But 

Miriam. In other words, you've got us guess- 
ing! 

Betsy. Miriam! (To Mother Goose) To 
whom are we indebted? 

Mother G. I understand not this future-talk. 
In King's English what dost mean? 

Betsy. Well — who are you? 

Mother G. I have told ye — Ann Goose o' 
Salem Town. (Harold taps his forehead with his 
finger and Bumps nods) 

Betsy. Yes, but — well, it is a splendid mas- 
querade. How long are you going to keep it up? 

Miriam. Offer her some apples and a piece of 
pie, Betsy. That's what they generally want. 

Mother G. I tell ye I am plain Ann Goose. 
And this is my man's house 

Betsy. (Humoring the situation) And who 
do you think we are? 



The Little Dog Laughed 1 13 

Mother G. I know ye to be those future- 
folk who will keep alive my rhymes when I am 
dead and gone — lest these little ones have no cradle 
songs in your cold and practical to-morrows. 

Vivian. How did you get here to-night? 

Mother G. Nay, ask me not. That is my 
secret. But always at Hallowe'en I come back 
through that secret passage, and we have our rhymes 
as of yore even if we cannot live in Salem Town 
no more. They say the house is haunted, and 
indeed it hath been shut up this long while. That 
is how we can come back undisturbed. I saw 
this little one here a year ago, and I sang my 
songs to her. {Cuddles Dinah, who looks at her 
with perfect faith) But this is the first time I 
have caught any others than the child in my house. 
And — I do not exactly understand it, for ye should 
be out there. {Points to audience) In the olden 
time we always had ye out there. 

Betsy. You say "we." Who are the rest of 
your mummers? 

Mother G. Mummers? Nay, mock me not. 
But if thou would'st like to see the rest of my fam- 
ily ye may go out there where indeed ye do belong, 
and I will call them in. See {points to audience), 
look, the wall of the room hath disappeared. And 
there be other of ye future-folk out there in the 
dim shadows. Go down with them and ye shall 
see. (Indicates the extra chairs and decorations 
which have been added since her reign) And take 
these with ye. They do not belong to this place. 

Vivian. Come on; bring your chairs over 
against the wall here and let's humor her. (They 
move over and across the footlights on the little 



H4 The Little Dog Laughed 

platform fixed for the orchestra. Vivian leaves her 
hat. Mother Goose swiftly rearranges the room. 
She picks up Vivian s hat and looks at it, at first not 
knowing what it is. When she discovers she laughs 
heartily as she tosses the hat down to Vivian) 

Dinah. Do I have to go, too? Let me stay 
with — thee — Mother Goose ? 

Mother G. You may surely stay with me — 
and I with thee — for thou art a child and dost un- 
derstand. And this lass, too. {Indicating Jean, 
who remains with her) And the little lad? (Little 
Jim goes to her) (She sits by the fire) My 
cradle! Where is my cradle and my baby? 

Voice of Property Man off Left. They're 
in the property room. I'll get 'em. 

Mother G. Come, my musicians! (The or- 
chestra enters from secret door and takes place on 
table and form) 

Property Man (Enters with cradle and baby 
upside down under his arm) Here's your cradle, 
Mother Goose; where shall I put it? 

Mother G. There's where it belongs. Hast 
thou forgotten? And my baby — gi'e the darling to 
me. Bless us, thou hast her upside down — she'll get 
a rush o' blood to the head, the innocent. (Takes 
baby. Exit the Property Man) Now! (Gives 
sign to orchestra) (Sings accompanied) "Rock-a- 
bye, baby," etc. 
(Chorus off joins in on last two lines) 

There be my family. See, they come! (As the 
children and Bobby Shafto come in) 

Captain G. (Appearing at left door in night- 
shirt) Wife, if thou'st finished thy rhyming, cover 



The Little Dog Laughed 115 

the fire and come to bed, — 'tis one o'clock. (Exit) 

Mother G. and Chorus. "Dickory, dickory- 
dock." ( At close of which Dinah speaks across to 
her mother) 

Dinah. I told you it was "Dickory/' mother. 

Mother G. Come, off to bed wi'ee, my dears, 
and find room for these new babes I've adopted. 
(The children cluster around Mother Goose, bid- 
ding her good-night, then go up into attic) 

Bumps. Say good-bye to your children, Betsy. 
(Nervously) 

Betsy. I think it's time we were going back 
into our house and putting the children to bed 
ourselves. Come on, Vivian. (Rises) 

Vivian. One moment. It isn't polite to the 
actors to make a fuss before the final curtain. I 
want to see this out to the end. I half believe 

Miriam. I hope it ends soon. That ham must 
be burnt to a crisp by this. 

Mother G. (As the children go) Rock-a- 
bye, baby! (Lullaby effect) (The stage is almost 
dark) 

Bumps. Come on, Betsy; let's go back. Quite 
a bully show. How did you get it up without my 
knowing 

Mother G. Peace, man! Thou'lt wake my 
babe. Now, draw the curtains, Little Dog, and 
do it softly — as we sing — (And as the curtains are 
drawn they sing softly and with glee) 

"Hey, diddle-diddle." 
Little Dog as he closes the curtains cannot resist 
the temptation of sticking his head between 
them saying: Ha, ha! 



Il6 The Little Dog Laughed 

After a moment the curtains go apart and the stage 
is lighted as it mas at the beginning of the 
act. The cradle is gone. 

Bumps. Well, we can go back now. {They 
take their things and return to their house. Ar- 
range things carelessly) 

Harold. Good stunt, Betsy. Who's your lead 
— one of the Lowell girls? 

Betsy. I tell you I know nothing — but where 

are the children (She goes to the attic door and 

opens it. Far off is heard a chorus of "Little Bo- 
peep has lost her sheep.") (As the last line is sung 
Betsy puts her foot on the step to go up. She 
calls:) Dinah! Little Jim! Jean! 

Dinah. (Coming from the secret panel with 
the other children. She carries Mother Hubbard's 
baby) Oh, mother, we found such a lovely hid- 
ing place, and (She whispers earnestly, then 

adds ) and she has given me her baby to keep 

till shfe comes again. 

Miriam. Hm? (With elevated eyebrows) 
Did you find this old doll in there? Really? 

Dinah. (Mothering the doll) Her name is 
Abagail. And mother, we saw 

Betsy. What, dearest? 

Dinah. (Whispers the great secret to her 
mother) 

CURTAIN 



i A 







lie? 






MOP 






gSti 







-• 



-■ 



